


Chérie, parchments and quills

by Oleonetta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Professors, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:35:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 89,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23729158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oleonetta/pseuds/Oleonetta
Summary: A birthday gift voucher for Le'Amortentia - the dating service, sends Harry  into a whirlwind of words after choosing the profile of one man that sound very interesting and mysterious.Unable to disclose anything that reveals his name or identity, Harry must rely on words via a magical connected parchment to get to know the other man. Only time will tell if they wish to met.Meanwhile, Harry had started his 10th year as a Hogwarts professor, and this year ... one Mr Draco Malfoy has taken over the position of potions professor.A Drarry story that starts twelve years after the battle of Hogwarts. It follows the books, and is cannon up until Voldemort's death.I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM, AND THIS IF FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 74
Kudos: 195





	1. Le'Amortentia

**Chérie, parchments and quills**

Welcome to my Chérie, parchments and quills story. I hope you enjoy reading my Drarry fanfiction and are kind enough to leave lots of comments if you do XD.

I will say this now, I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM, AND THIS IF FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. I thank Joanne Kathleen Rowling, for her wonderful Harry Potter book series, that with out such, this fanfiction would never have existed.

**Warnings:**

-Bad language and cursing.  
-Scenes including arousal, kissing etc - but no actual sex scenes.  
-Mentions of post traumatic stress disorder - PTSD.  
-Mentions refusal of work due to mental health reasons.

I also mention things that occurred in the Harry potter books - or that occurred in Harry's and Draco's life from cannon.

Draco and Harry are thirty-years-old in this story, they both still have some scars left over from the war and that, but otherwise it's about finding love through a magical connected parchment. I got the idea through a film called 'You've got mail', a film I also do not own in any way shape or form.

Without further ado, welcome to chapter one,  
I hope you enjoy my story. x

* * *

**...**

* * *

**Chérie, parchments and quills  
Chapter one - Le'Amortentia**

The door chimed three sickly-sweet tones, and Harry Potter's eyes roamed as he slowly entered Le'Amortentia, tapping a purple and silver voucher against his left hand nervously. Sucking his bottom lip, his eyes widened to better absorb his new surroundings. He wondered then, whether he still had time to change his mind and quickly make his exit?

The room was certainly unconventional for a dating service, with its medieval vibe: bare stone walls, stained glass tracery windows on the side he just entered with the wooden door, and a wooden reception desk with blue and purple flowers. He turned, walking slowly backwards to admire the windows - the grey sky outside did not match the now blinding bright sunlight glowing through them ... charms, most likely. As he walked backward, he hit something behind him. Turning quickly, and ran his hand down the high-backed wooden chair with its black and purple fleur-de-lis cushions.

Hesitating at first before finally sitting down on the chair he'd bumped into, he sighed in resignation. Why did he let Ron and Hermione talk him into this? He supposed, he'd only accepted to come because it was rude to decline a birthday gift. Although ... he secretly felt that this was the worst gift he had ever received - It was an invasion of his life choices to be frank, and his friends never left well enough alone. Yes, he wanted to find love, but he wanted to find it like a normal human being and not through some strange magical dating service. Hermione, especially, invested far too much of her time worrying about him and his future, coming up with crazy idea to 'get him laid'. It was almost as mortifying as sitting here waiting to be set up with a date - surely this was for desperate, insane, unattractive people.

His eyes roamed again, and he found himself tapping his foot as he became restless. Out of nowhere, flashes of a sexual nature invaded his mind, and a twitch bellow his waist made him shift back in the chair. Harry rubbed his eyes - chalking it up to boredom, and scratched his jaw line with the slight stubble. His attention was then stolen by the strange purple flowers near the windows - they sat in round terracotta vases, almost alluring in nature and seemed to move like a breeze on a hot day. Harry felt a little hot and had to restrain from fanning his face with the voucher. He fidgeted in his seat, aware of a growing tightness in his boxers, but he couldn't figure out why his body was acting so strangely.

The sounds of shoes clicking into the room turned his head, and a middle age woman wearing ... a purple and black medieval dress, walked into the room smiling joyfully. Harry suddenly felt like she wanted to play with him. Her crazy black curly hair - half clipped up, came down to her waist. She wore big purple love-heart reading glasses, and purple gem earrings.

"Welcome to Le'Amortentia. I'm Malaise Vixen, how may I help you today sir."

Harry blinked, he remembered to smile and nod politely, but he forgot how to use his voice. Either his ears were failing him or she sounded far away and airy. He was still shocked at her creepily cheery mannerism however, her strange appearance, wide dark-blue eyes that never blinked, and her big white teeth that beamed at him framed by her far too happy smile.

"Ah, you have a voucher! Perfect!" Malaise squealed at him, smacking him straight out of his rude staring and into embarrassment. "Just drop it into that cauldron and we'll get started!" Malaise pointed to the table in front on him, and he swore she battered her eyes at him – flirting.

"C-Cauldron?" As Harry looked, he noticed that a small cauldron had indeed appeared. He chuckled nervously, berating himself for acting like twat, and dropped in his voucher.

Suddenly a puff of purple smoke rose from a cauldron over on the reception desk, and just like that, Malaise was holding parchment and reading over it while he tried to pull himself together.

"Right, come through Mr Potter! Don't be nervous now. You're probably feeling a little out of sorts due to the Crelamotia flowers. Terrible this time of year, absolutely terrible! Yes, August comes and they fill everyone's heads with fluff. I blame the latona - invisible little spores with a mind of their own, but the flowers are ones of love and everyone reacts differently."

She led Harry to another room - similar to the reception room in fact, but this one actually had two comfortable purple and black fleur-de-lis couches and an oval glass table between them. The windows were most certainly charmed in this room, seeing as they were against an inside wall yet still glowed as if the sun was passing through them.

"Lovely! Take a seat then." Malaise pointed to the opposite couch, and once he'd sat down, she did the same. "How are you feeling now Mr Potter?"

Harry blinked and realised that yes, actually, now that she mentioned it, he did feel much better - much more himself. Malaise seem a little less eccentric and unlikely to jump him at any second now that they were away from the reception room. She was still in strange clothes, but she was not unpleasant to look at, and her dress did match the going theme. It was almost like he had been hyper-sensitive and aroused, but at least he could blame the flowers - apparently.

"A little nervous." He admitted, and offered her a shy smile. He wasn't about to admit how he'd been feeling a moment ago though.

"Let me guess. Your friends decided that you needed company in the form of a life partner. They brought you a voucher and then forced you redeem it?" Malaise said confidently, crossing her legs under the fabric of her long dress.

"Yes. That about sums it up, yeah. How did you-"

"You're not the first, and you won't be the last Mr Potter. Pushy, we-have-your-best-interests-at-heart friends, are the most common reason for nervous, hesitant customers. However, your voucher was purchased under a name not your own, and I may or may not remember the people who came and purchased it for one Mr Potter." She winked at him and smiled. "Says here you have the full secret parchment service. I'm not surprised. I am assuming your friends recognised the needs to keep your renowned name from influencing any potential suitors."

Harry nodded. Malaise seemed to be covering everything well enough, but he hadn't really listened to Hermione explaining it to him a couple days ago.

"What is the secret parchment service exactly? How does it work?" Harry asked, subconsciously biting his lip.

"Ah, well, once you have chosen your possible secret chèrie- an anonymous person that piques your interest, someone you would like to correspond with, we will write to said person to see if they would like to hear from you. We'll send you a package if they agree to be your chérie, and you will be given a magical parchment that has a partner piece. You'll be able to communicate via that parchment to your secret chérie directly, but there are rules. You must not share your real name, give personal addresses, or share any other information that gives away your identity or location. These are the pre-terms set between you both, that you both wish to remain anonymous and do not ask or actively seek out such information. Apart from that, what you wish to talk about is indubitably private between you both. You can talk about hobbies, feelings, general daily things and dislikes for example, and it is like a secret rendezvous between you are your chérie, and not even Le'Amortentia is privy to what the two of you talk about. The idea is that you feel comfortable knowing your identity is assuredly concealed, but also granting you and your Chérie the means to discover each other on a much deeper level in privacy. If such a time comes to pass in which you no longer wish to communicate with them, you can let us know and we can kindly reject them on your behalf. Likewise, if you both decide you wish to meet, we will arrange for you both to meet here in the safety of one of our meeting rooms."

Harry once again nodded. This actually didn't sound too bad, and he found himself gaining an interest as he started to relax. "How do you pick a ... chérie?"

"Yes, chérie! It is a French term of endearment, and we used 'sweetheart' as our chosen endearment here at Le'Amortentia. I will ask you some questions, we'll get you set up into our records, and then I will bring you ten possible matches. You can choose up to three at a time, but I recommend one to start with. A lot of new clients get a little overwhelmed with more than one. You might find that communicating with one person can take up enough of your spare time as it is. Is that okay Mr Potter? You do not have to use our service, but I think you'll find there isn't anything to lose. You might even find someone interesting."

Harry bit his gum, thinking it over for a moment, and then nodded. He'd come this far, it seemed safe and anonymous enough that no one would know it was Harry Potter 'The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice'. His previous dates had been more interested in his fame then in him - a fame Harry hadn't chosen nor wanted.

"Might as well give it go." He shrugged, smiling at Malaise. Malaise smiled and a quill appeared with a small pile of parchment.

"Now, the questions I will ask are to find you the best match. No need to be embarrassed, believe me, I've heard it all before. Just answer as best and as truthfully as you can, okay?"

Harry, once again nodded, wondering what she was about to ask him. His fingers twined together nervously, and he hoped it wouldn't be to embarrassing. Malaise started with the usually questions: names, address, and age for example - assuring him that this information was solely for Le'Amortentia's records and would remain secret and confidential to anyone else. Then she started asking other questions for his profile.

"What age range would you be happy with in a partner?" Malaise smiled affably, her wide blue eyes peering up at him over her purple spectacles as she leaned over the parchment.

 _'I guess I'm really about to do this. No going back now.'_ Harry thought. He partially believed that, as interesting and anonymous as this was, it most likely wouldn't result in anything more than correspondence with a few creepy guys. They could literally write nothing but lies to him. Another part of himself however, was immensely curious.

The pen hovered in Malaise's hand above the parchment she was writing on, and he suddenly realised he hadn't answered her yet.

"My age." He blurted, before quickly scraping to correct his thoughts and cover up his moment of inattention. "So, Thirty? I suppose ... twenty-eight to thirty-two would be okay." Harry answered.

"Great! What gender, sexual orientation, and blood status - included magical creatures' blood, would you be happy dating?" Malaise asked.

Harry frowned. He may have gotten away with his loss of awareness just now, but wasn't this a bloody awkward question?

"Erm, well ... I'm gay. I'd prefer a male. Blood statues? Magical creatures' blood?" He frowned hoping he didn't look like a complete idiot.

"Pure-blood, half-blood, muggle born, unknown? And would you, for example, be happy with a werewolf, a veela, part veela, part giant, part goblin, elf-"

"Oh, erm..." He interrupted her. "I'm not sure. I don't mind muggle borns, half-bloods or pure-bloods ... but I'm not sure on the others. N-not that I have anything against them, I have friends that-"

"It's okay Mr Potter!" Malaise assured him quickly, picking up on his uncertainty and slight panic. "I will write down that you do not mind blood status, but that you would like to avoid magical creature blood for now. You can change your mind at any time, and do not feel bad. I am heterosexual, so I wouldn't want to date a woman, but that doesn't mean I dislike woman or have anything against them. I still have many female friends and acquaintances. You understand?"

Harry nodded - just going along with what Malaise said, but he wondered if he was being unfair to wizards with creature blood. He would date a wizard with lycanthropy, or one that had Veela blood for example - if they were the right man for him of course, but he didn't know about the others. Part giants put him in mind of Hagrid, and he shivered at the thought. Part goblin made him think of Professor Filius Flitwick, and he honestly wasn't sure how he would feel about the height difference. There were many other magical creatures that he had addressed in his life, and he had nothing against them at all, they were just like everyone else but -

Malaise's voice snapped him from his thoughts. "So, a gay or bisexual wizard, any blood status, but no magical creatures' blood for now?"

"Yeah, I think so." Harry answered, still unsure but happy to move on and get this over with.

"Lovely!"

Harry answered many questions after that, and they were a lot easier: height, hair colour, eye colour, physique, and then some stranger questions like: One sentence that your closest friends might use to explain you? What are you passionate about? What is your ultimate goal in life?

He must have been there for at least three hours before he was finally handed ten different possible matches, or possible secret chérie's. Malaise left him to go through them alone and only returned once with a cup of tea for him with a few biscuits. By the time he had finished his tea, he had already decided that he wasn't interest in seven of them. One of the aforementioned seven was into strange role play animal sex games - a rather big nope from Harry after nearly chocking on his biscuit. Another had an ultimate life goal of traveling the world to find new or extinct magical creatures, but Harry felt that it clashed with his own goals of having a crazy little family and keeping his job.

He was, finally, left with only three.

1:  
A brown haired thirty-two-old man with green eyes, muggle born, with a passion for teaching magical children under eleven. Says he loves kids and wants his own family one day. His quote was – 'You can teach no one, only attempt to provide the conditions in which they can learn themselves.'

2:  
Blond haired twenty-nine-year-old man with blue eyes, half- blood, with a passion for family, friends, and fun. His life goal was similar to Harry's, but he also wanted to make a different to people that struggled financially. His quote was – 'Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away.'

3:  
Blond haired thirty-year-old man with grey eyes, pure-blood, with a passion for reading and aesthetics including nature, paintings, and poetry. His life goal was for a family, a chance to be loved and to love another without expectations, and a chance to be seen for who he is now and not who he was in his past. His quote was – 'Give me the storm and tempest of thought and action, rather than the dead calm of ignorance and faith! Banish me from Eden when you will; but first let me eat of the fruit of the tree of knowledge!'

It was really tough, choosing just one, but he kept being drawn to number three. It was the way he had written his life goal. Harry read the words again:

_'My ultimate goal in life is to be seen for who I am and not what I once was - for my present and not my past. I want to one day wake up and find a smile on the pillow next to mine, a beautiful face looking at me with no hidden agenda or ulterior motive, but with unconditional love and passion. I'd like someone that can teach me how to love openly, and someone that lets me reflect that love in return.'_

The sadness in his words, the hidden, desperate need to be seen for himself and not what others wanted to see - Harry could relate. _'I'd like someone that can teach me how to love...'_ That was almost screaming at Harry, playing with his annoying need to help others, but it also resounded with his own lack of experience in love. The quote was intriguing, and his passion of nature and aesthetics sounded peaceful - a life Harry certainly needed after the tempest rage of his own past. What sealed the deal however, was the last question: What do you want the person reading this to know? The thirty-year-old blond had answered:

' _If they want someone perfect then I am not who they are searching for. I have made terrible mistakes and I will live with them until my last breath. My past is shrouded in darkness and I need that to be made clear; I have done bad things and my guilt will follow me to my grave. I am trying to atone for my past - I believe I have made much progress, and I am not the boy I once was. I am a better man today, but I cannot erase what did. I want a family, a life, but I need it to be real - fairy tales are not real, and if anyone chooses me as a possible suitor they need to understand this. I carry my scars, but I don't want them to be all I am, or all I have in this life.'_

Harry shivered at the words. Perfect didn't exist, he knew that, and he certainly wasn't perfect himself. Perhaps he was mad for choosing someone that for all he knew could be a murderer, but the blond almost sounded like he had given up on love - that he was warning people away yet was desperate to be loved at the same time. It was a challenge, and that ... that was what drew Harry Potter in.


	2. False names

Saturday morning found Harry in his kitchen of number twelve Grimmauld Place, making coffee in his grey short sleeved pyjamas. It had been a week since he had been to Le'Amortentia, and he hadn't heard anything back yet. Perhaps the blond man had declined his request.

Harry sat at the kitchen table and continued to mark the student's essays for his defense against the dark arts class. Sipping his coffee, he finished another essay and was just about to start on the next one when an owl swooped in through the opened window. It landed on the table, preening its pretty brown speckled feathers.

"Hello." Harry greeted it with smile, rubbing its feathers before taking the shrunken package.

Harry waved his hand and a bag of owl treats came flying into the kitchen. He handed the owl a few, watching it eat them happily before flying away. As soon as it had left, he un-shrunk the package with his wand and instantly noticed it was from Le'Amortentia.

Opening it, he couldn't help but wonder - with a surprising spark of excited anticipation, if the blond man had accepted his request after all. The letter on top was from Malaise Vixen, saying that his mystery man had indeed accepted his request, that he had enclosed his own letter, and that he was rather surprised someone had chosen him out of the surely better prospects.

Harry chuckled. He hadn't gotten anywhere yet, but this mystery blond man already had him highly interested. Why wouldn't he expect someone to choose him? Not only had he signed up to a dating service, but he sounded sincere and nice enough - even if he had made terrible mistakes in the past.

Malaise had run a back ground check on Harry before he had left Le'Amortentia, and she had informed him that certain crimes such as murder, child abuse, rape, and pedophiles for example, had to be listed on the profiles. Harry knew then, that his secret chérie was no murderer, or it would have said as much.

Harry opened the second letter, eager to read what the mystery blond had to say, and the very first line had him chuckling.

** Letter from Harry's secret Chérie: **

_To the peculiar black-haired man that chose my Le'Amortentia profile,  
_ _You did read it all didn't you?_

_I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised that you chose me to be your secret chérie, you're the first to respond to me actually. I am assuming my dark past hasn't put you off, that's a start at least, but I was being serious. I do not wish to go down this road just to be judged for it later on - I need you to be sure you can handle it._

_I have read your profile, rather brief I must say, and who uses 'Always' as a quote? I understand the appeal of stability, but I don't think you quite understanding the meaning of a quote. Oh well, let's hope you're not always this peculiar shall we, you did say you were a boring man but I will hope for better in the future. That is assuming we continue correspondence – why would a boring man want to exchange words with someone with a dark past? You're not hiding some nefarious secrets yourself, are you? It's the boring, quiet ones that you have to watch out for._

_I will await your reply on the charmed parchment. If I don't hear from you, I will assume you have come to your senses. Should you decided to ignore my advice of finding a different, more boring and suitable chérie for yourself to correspond with, you shall address me under the false name of 'Tau'. I would suggest you come up with your own false name, or I shall be forced to always call you 'The peculiar man'._

_Tau._

** End of letter- **

Harry starting laughing. What else could he do? He had just been insulted along with his profile, picked apart, accused, demanded of, and warned away ... he liked this Tau already. Harry got the strongest impression that Tau wanted him to respond, and he was going to. The poor guy sounded insecure almost, but most definitely arrogant. Maybe it was a mask? A tactic to avoid humiliation and embarrassment perhaps?

Once he stopped laughing and chuckling, he pulled out the thick parchment with a special black-purple feathered quill. He read the note attached to it which explained that he must only use this particular quill with the parchment - that the ink needed lay inside the parchment itself - no ink was required. Once he had finished his message, he was to draw the Mannaz shaped rune on the bottom centre of the parchment and . The words would instantly send to its partner parchment and would only be readable to the person it was intended. Any received messages could be cleared with the Othala rune and by running the quill feather over it. Only he would be able to read the words on his own parchment likewise - to anyone else it would appear blank.

 _'Seems simple enough.'_ Harry thought as he poured himself a new coffee. He took his time figuring out his reply, and once he was ready, he starting writing.

** Message to Tau: **

_Tau,_

_Anyone would think your arrogance was a cover up for something - you didn't seem this insecure in your profile._

_I will put your mind to rest however, and assure you that I am not going to judge you for your past. I have seen many things and am quite sure I can handle whatever nefarious things you have done. As long as you no longer have ill intentions - or plan to start a war, then you have nothing to worry about from me._

_I really couldn't think of a quote at the time, as you should know if you had read my profile. You should also know why I chose the word - 'Always', but I'll admit there is another reason - a reason I cannot yet share with you I am afraid._

_What inspired your own choice of quote? I was intrigued if nothing else, but I can't stop thinking about it._

_'Padfoot' will be my false name, and I agree that false names are a rather good idea. I fear I would have had to address you as 'Mr arrogance' otherwise._

_On another note, I question the friends you keep. Tell me, why would your friend describe you as an idiot? I will hope that this is not the case, and it is in fact, a term of friendly endearment._

_Padfoot._

** End of Message- **

Harry drew the Mannaz shaped rune on the bottom centre of the parchment and run the quill feather over it, watching as glimpses of a past memory surfaced as the words vanished. He shook his head, not wanting to think about a certain diary from his second year at Hogwarts.

Harry had paused during the writing of the message he had just sent, remembering what he had written in his own profile – the one Tau would have read before accepting him as a secret chérie:

_'I don't really know any good quotes if I'm honest, but I heard a word once that really stuck with me. "Always!"  
I know it's just a word, but it's the meaning behind it: To always be there, always love someone, always stay by my side, always be patient and weather the storm. Always! It's a powerful word and a promise of consistency, certainty and forever. I haven't had much consistency or stability in my life, and I want someone that will become my always.'_

Harry craved for that type of always, the always of a partner - a husband and a family that would always be there. He'd never had an always with his mum and dad, certainly not with the Dursley's. Sirius had been murdered, and other people he loved and cared for were lost to the war twelve years ago.

He had thought long and hard over that one little word, ever since he had heard Severus Snape admit that he had always loved his mother - no matter that Lily Potter nee Evans never returned his feelings, in a memory via a pensive. Harry had shortly after that, walked to what he assumed would be his death. He knew his life would never last forever, but as he walked to his death, he realised that he would never have the chance at his own always - not in life anyway. Death itself seemed to be the final always, no matter a person's beliefs on the matter - all the people he had lost were always going to be dead. Yes, he could always remember them, but they would never come back.

Harry hand to drag himself away from his thoughts and focus on something else; he still found it hard to think of those lost in the wars that Voldemort had caused. He looked at the magical parchment instead, and was fairly surprised at his building anxious feelings - impatient for a reply from Tau. He wasn't a teenager with a stupid crush, so he shook his head and decided to continue grading the essays of his students - reminding himself that he was in fact, a thirty-year-old adult with a job.

Jaylan Thomas, had done particularly well on his article regarding the multiple uses of a single spell. Harry smile at the boys interesting ability to utilize things to their fullest potential. One example Jaylan had given, was that of the Lumos Maxima charm.

_'Most wizards, and indeed witches, wouldn't think to use anything but defense spells or jinxes for example. But I truly believe that in a fight or duel, it is important to utilize anything you can to win. A Lumos Maxima spell for example - seems simple enough right? But with enough power, said spell can be used to blind or confused your opponent for a few seconds. This could give you enough time to cast a counter spell, get away, hide, or a range of other things. Lumos Maxima can also be used against certain plants or dark creatures that hate the light, for example-'_

Harry continued reading, proud of his second-year Ravenclaw student. Sometimes his students made him think in different ways, taught _him_ things instead, and he simply loved his work. Once he was finished reading Jaylan's work, he marked the essay with an O for outstanding, and suggested he read - 'Unusual use of spell work by Flanius Handgal', if he hadn't already.

Harry couldn't help but glance over at his charmed parchment once more, his heart missing a beat when he saw the new words there. Grabbing it, he read what Tau had written - the essays forgotten for the time being.

** Message from Tau: **

_Padfoot,_

_Arrogant? Excuse you! I'll have you know that my personality doesn't include such a thing. I am simply a unique individual. I am most certainly offended that you think I am insecure. Shame on you!_

_Padfoot? Are you trying to tell me you have large feet? You are a very peculiar man._

_Unfortunately, I am unable to explain fully as to why I chose said quote. I can tell you however, that I abhor ignorance and blind faith. Something that I used to have warped views on, but now knowledge has granted me a new view on life. I'd rather learn then stay in the shadows and follow blindly._

_My friends are certainly questionable. I have no idea what they mean half the time, but as crazy as they are, they are my friends._

_Tau._

** End of Message- **

Harry chuckled. Yep, definitely arrogant, but also ... somewhat charismatic - at least in his opinion. There was just something intriguing about this mystery man behind the parchment. He couldn't stop the grin that donned his lips; he felt like a teenager again and this sudden new aspect of his life was rather exciting. 


	3. Inordinate amounts of chocolate

Harry returned to Hogwarts a week later. School would start in two weeks and the teachers needed to make lesson plans and retrieve their timetables.

Harry was currently in a staff meeting - one that was just about to end, but he couldn't keep his eyes from wondering over to certain blond man he hadn't seen in about twelve years; one rather good-looking Draco Malfoy. Yes, Harry could admit when a man was gorgeous, even if their personality was ugly ... but the change in Malfoy was shocking.

Malfoy was still pale, but his complexion now leaned more towards healthy smooth and fair - instead of necromancy white and straight out of a horror film. Draco also had stubble, and his hair was still platinum blond - but it was clean and almost shoulder length. It looked good on him. Perhaps the most shocking change was that Malfoy smiled at Headmistress McGonagall a few times, wasn't snarky or rude when joining in with the staff discussions, and seemed very attentive to the meeting. Harry couldn't help but wonder – 'Was this all some façade to get the potions position?'

"With the student numbers finally increasing, I'm am looking forward to great year." Headmistress McGonagall informed them all with a warm, excited smile. Harry tore is eyes away to look at the headmistress instead.

It was true, Hogwarts had reached the lowest population of children until now. Too many families had lost loved ones, children, and friends. People didn't want to get pregnant while Voldemort was still a threat, and a lot of people had even fled the country.

After Voldemort had been defeated in May 1998, people rushed to get married. In 1999, poor St Mungo's had been almost ambushed with woman going into in labour - the biggest baby boom happened in March through to June, before starting to calm down. Seeing as all the children born in 1999 were now eleven, Hogwarts was about to have an increase in student numbers. McGonagall had already, happily informed them that they had sixty-three first years starting in September - as opposed to the twenty-nine they had last year. It was such a warming feeling for all the teachers, to know that children were once again flourishing in the magical world.

They were dismissed, and Harry found himself walking down the corridor. He was lost in his own mind however - a moment of sadness, and a feeling of being incomplete washed over him. He was previously filled with joy - knowing that Hogwarts would soon be gaining so many, innocent, smiling faces ... but he wished for his own, imagining a life with two kids and someone to love.

Not really focusing on his steps, he crashed straight into someone.

"Watch where you're going, Potter!" Malfoy drawled, his voice was still as clear, as sharp, and as snippy as Harry remembered it, but the tone was lower - deeper, and there was a smooth wrapping to it. In a way, it reminded him of Professor Severus Snape – a great man that had died in the war playing spy for the side against Voldemort, but not a very likeable potions professor.

"Sorry, Malfoy." Harry apologised sincerely, but it came out mumbled as he continued on his way - his mind now thinking of Severus. He wondered if things would have been different if the man had survived the war twelve years ago. How much of Severus's cold demeanour and unfriendliness had been his façade as a spy?

"I suggest you get your eyes re-checked Potter. Your ridiculous spectacles don't seem to be working for you." Malfoy yelled after him. Harry paused in his steps, turning to face the blond bully from his past.

"Grow up Malfoy! It was a damn accident. Not that I'd expect you of all people-- You know what, never mind."

"No! Go on Potter, expect me to what?" Malfoy snapped, his demeaner suddenly defensive.

Harry's eyes met steel grey one and sneered. Trust Malfoy to be a class A prat about a simple accident. "Expect you to understand that accidents happen Malfoy. To accept my apology and let it go without being a prat about it!"

Malfoy had a strange look in his eyes then, and if Harry didn't know any better, he'd swear there was actual remorse there. Seeing as Malfoy didn't say anything more, Harry turned and left in a huff. He didn't need to start fights or confrontations with his old school rival, the fact was, they weren't students anymore. It didn't stop the blond prat making him feel like a bloody student again though.

Entering his private rooms near the defence against the dark arts classroom, Harry threw his satchel down on the bed.

"Kreacher?" Harry called to seemingly no one, but his house elf appeared with a bow.

"Master Harry Potter sir called for Kreacher." He stated, awaiting orders.

Harry plopped down to sit on his bed and faced him. The house elf had a bulbous, snout-like nose, squinted bloodshot eyes, a wrinkly face, and white hair growing out of his bat-like ears. His frayed grey vest - made from an old pillow case, was tied tightly around his tiny waist.

"I would like a coffee please Kreacher, and maybe a sandwich. You know what, anything to eat would be great! If that's okay please." Harry asked, sighing. Kreacher nodded once more, and left the room with a slight pop.

Maybe he was overreacting because he was tired and hadn't eaten since breakfast, but Malfoy was a prat! A bothersome blond bastard who was taking over for Professor Stoltion. Amelia Stoltion had decided that she wanted to stay home after the birth of her first child, born just as the summer holidays had started – in June. She had only been a teacher at the school for two years, and now he had to work with Malfoy - who obviously hadn't changed at all despite his change of appearance.

Kreacher returned shortly after leaving, and Harry practically inhaled the first half of his ham, tomato and lettuce sandwich. Hunger wasn't something that usually bothered him all that much, but he could imagine the bread was a certain blond Slytherin's head at least - and he'd only had a piece of toast that morning after forgoing dinner last night.

\---OOO---

Harry exited the bathroom - in his black cotton, long sleeved pyjamas after his shower, and climbed into bed. He opened the draw of his bedside table and pulled out the charmed parchment and quill, smiling when another message had appeared.

He had been talking to Tau every day for the last seven days, and they had fallen into a habit of communicating at night, in the morning, and a few times during the day. Tau could make him laugh, and the mystery man seemed to have relaxed slightly - communicating more freely, and seemed less insecure. Harry had a grin on his face as he got comfortable and he read his new message - his bottom lip between his teeth.

** Message from Tau: **

_Yes, I like chocolate. Rather inordinately if I'm honest, it is a weakness of mine. You must never repeat that unless you wish to be cursed into oblivion._

_I had a rather unfortunate incident when I was fourteen, involving a lot of the sweet, rich, chocolatey goodness ... and a night spent with an angry stomach. I cried Padfoot! Cried! My eyes, my stomach, they totally betrayed me. Can you believe that? Suffice to say, no one brought me chocolate again after that, they said I couldn't be trusted – the nerve of them._

_I always have one bar of chocolate nearby however, and it is a personal challenge of mine to see how long it lasts before I devour it. The chocolate fears me the most when I am particularly upset or angry. It was shivering today; I was close to eating it._

_Tell me, mon chéri particulier, what is your weakness?_

** Message end- **

Harry chuckled. If he ever met this man, he was taking him to a chocolate factory. There was a magical one at Dartmoor national park that he had heard about, hidden from muggles.

Harry cleared Tau's message with the Othala rune and his quill feather. He felt a bit alexithymic in that he knew he was feeling a range of positive, almost excited emotions, but couldn't identify them singularly. He rubbed the feather against his chin, thinking of how to reply before staring to write.

** Message to Tau: **

_I am wondering if it would be a good idea to take you to a magical chocolate factory one day. I have heard of one that is meant to be amazing, but I wouldn't want to make you sick. We most certainly, cannot have your eyes or stomach betraying you again, now can we? That would most traumatizing for you I imagine._

_I am curious, what is your record for not eating chocolate?_

_What on earth happened to threaten the existence of your chocolate bar this time?_

_Now I'm suddenly craving chocolate, which is strange, I usually go for puddings. I think that would be my weakness actually, puddings._

_I found myself feeling like something was missing in my life today. I know I am jealous of my friends and the family they have made respectively, but I don't constantly feel that void. No, something happened today to remind me of my solitude. Does that make me ridiculous Tau?_

_And I do not speak French, but I have this strange feeling that you just called me a peculiar sweetheart._

** Message end- **

Harry sent his message. Butterflies danced in his stomach as he grew impatient for the reply. It wasn't long ago that he complained about using a dating service, feared it viewed him as desperate, but now look at him ... he was acting ridiculously. Tau might not even reply tonight, he could have fallen asleep or he might be busy.

Harry still couldn't tear his eyes away from the parchment, his hands fidgeting in in anticipation. Then tau's words appeared and he smiled. Merlin, he was acting inane.

** Message from Tau: **

_A chocolate factory?_

_I fail to see the appeal in simply observing how chocolate is made. I'd vastly prefer to eat it, Padfoot, and therein lies the issue._

_My record for not eating chocolate is eight days, currently going strong at four. I feel you are trying to get me to fail in my resolve. You're also assuming we would one day agree to meet - you are a very peculiar man. Your weakness in puddings just further proves this._

_I would not enjoy discussing the reason for my, almost, devoured chocolate bar. Let's just say - some people are still expectant of me to behaviour in a certain way. It seems no matter what I say or do, I will never be redeemable. I can admit however, that I do tend to put my foot in my mouth – old habits die hard I'm afraid._

_Ah, Mon chèri, I also feel a lack of satisfaction with my life. It is not something to tend to dwell upon or ruminate over all that much, but I personally feel a barrier in reaching what it is I truly desire._

_I read these words once: "A flying broom is safe in the cupboard, but that's not what brooms was made for." You see, a flying broom can be displayed or used to sweep dirt of the floor, but their true purpose is to fly! The other notion that passed me back then, was that brooms were judged. An old broom isn't loved nor wanted, and only the ones that shine are sort after and noticed. The same applies to a broom that works but is worn down and splintered. I feel much like an old broom trapped in a cupboard. So, no mon chèri, you are not ridiculous ... the world is simply flawed as are the many people in it._

_Le'Amortentia, is that one that called you my secret sweetheart, I simply called you peculiar._

_Mon chéri particulier._

** Message end- **

Harry read the message a few times, not bothering to restrain the ridiculous grin that lit up his face. Tau was so charming on paper and he really hoped the same held true in real life. He couldn't imagine what Tau could have done to warrant a lack of forgiveness, and it seemed that it was more then just a few people that wouldn't give him a chance.

Harry called for Kreacher, asking him politely for a glass of water. Kreacher complied to his masters wishes quickly, and Harry downed half the glass in one before placing what remained on his bed side table.

He scanned over Tau's words one last time before he cleared them with the Othala rune, and then started writing his reply.

** Message to Tau: **

_Firstly, this particular chocolate factory is part interactive. One of my friends shared their trip with me and explained that, not only do you get to watch how it is made, you also get to make your own chocolates to take home. You get to sample quite a lot too apparently, and you even have the option to swim in it - although they don't recommend you eat that. I was also told that they take you through the green houses filled with a different variety of cacao trees, and where they grow other plants and herbs that they sometimes add to certain varieties of chocolate. Then there is the Charms and transfiguration rooms, as well as the potion house, where they make all the potions for magical chocolate or add spells to things like chocolate frogs. However, if you don't feel that your personal restraint is strong enough to withstand being surround by the 'chocolaty goodness', I would totally understand._

_And yes Tau, maybe one day we could meet. Isn't that the end game of our parchment conversations? Unless I am too peculiar for your tastes of course._

_And lastly, that broom reference is intriguing. I myself, feel like a worn-out broom being tossed about and fought over. I'd rather stay in the cupboard if that were true and I was a broom. I like to be isolated outside of work, away from the world and left to live out my personal life peacefully._

_Padfoot, x_

** Message end- **

Once Harry had drawn the rune to send his message, he froze ... realising that he'd added a kiss to the end. Oh Merlin!

 _'Oh well.'_ He thought - blowing out air, the damage was done now, but he still needed to gulp down the last of his water to tend to the sudden dryness of his mouth. It was just a one kiss on parchment, it wasn't like he'd actually kissed the man. It didn't mean anything ... right?

As he was pondering how Tau would take his little 'X', he saw a new message come through on his parchment.

** Message from Tau: **

_You evil peculiar man!_

_How dare you torment me like this. I simply must visit this chocolate factory at once! Yet I cannot - life is simply unfair. You should be ashamed of yourself; it is your fault that I no long have a chocolate bar now. I knew you wanted to ruin my no chocolate streak, and I hold you personally accountable._

_You have just lessened your chances of me ever wanting to meet you._   
_I trusted you Padfoot! You will simply have to make it up to me if you wish to return to my good books!_

_Also, are you trying to tell me that you have people fawning over you like you're a walking sex symbol, and if so, why are you using a dating service?_

_You really are a very peculiar little man.Un petit homme particulier et maléfique!_

_Isolation does have its degree of comforts, I'll agree, but as one who has had solitude forced upon them ... it isn't quite as it is illustrated to be._

_Unfortunately, I must be up early tomorrow and so I shall leave you for tonight._

_Until tomorrow,_

_Tau._

_P.S - You will get no 'x' from me, you killed my chocolate!_

** Message end- **

Harry laughed as he finished reading, a huge smile on his face and a warm ball growing in his gut. He was used to Tau's back handed comments, and he could read his words for what they were. Tau wanted to visit the chocolate factory with him one day, and he liked him enough to accept his 'x'. Despite telling him wouldn't get an 'x', he actually did get one.

He put his parchment and quill in the draw of his bedside table, then snuggled under the covers to sleep. He still had a huge grin on his face, felling much better after his run in with Malfoy earlier. He kept trying to picture what Tau looked like: Blond hair - maybe a sunshine golden blond, or a honey blond. Grey eyes - dark grey like a storm, grey that was almost blue, or a light grey? He was taller than Harry, 5ft 9in if he remembered his profile correctly. Maybe he was lean and tall, with a handsome face and a kind smile.

Harry then remembered he was a pure-blood. _'There can't be that many pure-bloods out there.'_ He thought. Maybe he could do some research and- No! That was against the rules of Le'Amortentia. He'd signed to promise that he would not actively try and find information on his Chérie that could lead to the discovery of his identity or address. It still itched inside him to break the rules, but that would also be a betrayal of trust. Not to mention that, now he'd signed to say he would do no such thing, he'd be fined and charged with stalking and misuse of date.

Wouldn't that be funny; Harry potter, the golden boy that everyone wants a piece of, arrested for breaking a dating service agreement.

Chuckling lightly to himself, he went back to imagining what his Chérie might look like. Lost in thick honey-blond hair, passionate grey eyes, and tall, impossibly gorgeous men, he fell to sleep. 


	4. Apologies

Harry was just preparing the defence against the dark’s arts class room - to accommodate the larger number of first years that would be arriving in two weeks, when an Owl started tapping rapidly at one of the windows. Harry smiled as he went to open it; after nineteen years in the Wizarding world, it still amazed him how owls could find him nearly anywhere he went. As long as there was a window - or a way to enter the building, they would find him.

Once the owl had left - after its gratitude for the treats and some affection, Harry noticed the letter had the Le’Amortentia wax seal. He quickly broke the seal and read the letter:

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We don’t usually agree to the sending of gifts, but if I can’t do a favour for the man who saved the wizard world twice, then what sort of witch would I be? A disgrace of one that’s what!_  
  
Well, anyways Mr Potter, I wrote to your secret Chérie and asked him if that would be okay. I can only bend the rules so far you see, and asking his permission first was necessary if I wished to keep my job. He said that was perfectly fine, so I have just sent your gifts to him.

_You said it was chocolate, but I’ve never heard of anything called ‘Maltesers’ before, nor that long one called ‘Galaxy caramel’. Perhaps you could enlighten me one day?_

_Nonetheless Mr Potter, I just wrote to let you know that your gifts are on their way._

_Yours truly,_

_From Le’Amortentia,_

_Miss Malaise Vixen._

Harry’s smile widened, wondering what Tau’s reaction to his choice of ‘making it up to him’ would be.

He folded his letter, making a note to thank Miss Vixen, and then slide it into his jeans pocket before continuing to play around with the tables. He had no idea how many students he would have in each of his classes yet, but if he halved the number of first years starting … he guessed thirty-two wouldn’t be a far-off estimation for the number of students his classroom needed to hold at full capacity. Now he just needed to figure out how to get thirty-two students into his class with room for spell casting and practical work. 

He flicked his wand, levitating and manipulating the tables and chairs once again as he tried to form a semicircle this time.

* * *

Back in his private room, he wiped the soup bowl clean with his bread and popped the last of it into his mouth. The spoon clinked as it landed into the bowl and he pushed it aside. A few moments later, the bowl vanished and a fresh cup of coffee appeared. He thanked Kreacher - not knowing if he’d heard him or not.

Having already finished planning the schedule to meet the curriculum for the first years’, he was now working on the same plans for the second years. He had to fit in a multitude of topics, from Dark creatures such as Banshees, Cornish pixies and trolls - including the correct way to handle such creatures, to Defence against the dark arts spells, such as the disarming charm or the full body bind curse, and he only had thirty-nine weeks in which to achieve this for all his students - including all the revision for the things that they had learnt from the previous years. The students were not going to be pleased with the amount of homework he had to set them.

It was tiring work, and he soon decided to take a break. He sat on his bed - his head against the headboard, his coffee to his left on the bedside table, and he pulled out the magical parchment and quill from the draw. Smiling when he saw the new message, he eagerly read the words.

** Message from Tau: **

_Padfoot!_

_Are you trying to poison me - what the hell is a ‘Galaxy caramel’ or ‘Maltesers’?_

_Obviously, I can read, and I have deduced that they are some aberrant form of chocolate, but I have never seen these ones before. As the chocolate expert here, I demand and explanation to these foreign monstrosities!_

_I would also like to know how this absolves you from your criminal charges against my last chocolate?_

_I must admit, I think I was wrong. You are not peculiar, you are absurd!_

** Message end- **

There was no closing, but that wasn’t uncommon - Harry chuckling to Tau’s reply wasn’t uncommon either. No, what was unusual, was the feeling of satisfaction that had allowed an indescribable feeling to sneak up on him. It was like standing in the warm sun, but he couldn’t place it enough to name the emotion. Maybe it was simply a mixture of warm emotions that he couldn’t separate, but he was most certainly happy.

After a week of conversing with Tau in this similar fashion, he felt like he knew the hidden meanings behind his words. In this instance he’d translated Tau’s message to:

‘Hey Harry - not that he knew Harry’s real name of course - I am pleasantly surprised and very appreciative of my chocolate gifts, they were most unexpected. I am curious about the chocolates you have sent me and would like to know more. They are not the standard chocolate, nor quality of chocolate that I usually enjoy, but I thank you very much for them. You’re not really to blame for my upset or stress the other day, however I am playing a game to see what you might do next - your actions fascinate me. I find your unpredictability charming and intriguing.’

If Harry had to guess, with Tau being a pure-blood wizard, he would assume that he’d never had muggle chocolates before. Harry hoped Tau wasn’t a pure-blood that was against all thing’s muggle, seeing he still enjoyed many of the thing’s muggles had to offer. Yes, Harry even had a laptop at home, and he still preferred muggle clothes shops.

The scratching of the quill filled the room as he replied to Tau.

** Message to Tau: **

_They arrived safely then? That’s good._

_I won’t tell you much about them, just that they taste very good and are a muggle sweet. I have had them myself._

_I thought it was the least I could do to replace the chocolate you accused me of murdering. I fail to see how your lack of control over your cravings is my fault Tau. I didn’t force your hands to move, or put the chocolate into your mouth, or make you swallow it now did I? Even so, I still felt rather bad. I thought you would appreciate something new and equally as good. Seeing as you abhor ignorance, and would rather learn then stay in the dark, I’m sure you will appreciate my gift to you greatly. I have provided you with the means to broaden your knowledge on the world of chocolate that you are so passionate about, and have generously replaced the chocolate you no longer have due to no fault of mine._

_I will patiently await your verdict - I don’t expect you to eat them today of course._

_Padfoot, x_

** Message end- **

Harry sent it off with a small, smug little smile, before resting his head back on his puffed-up pillows and leaving the parchment and quill on the right side of the bed next to him. He wondered if Tau liked puffed up pillows, or maybe he liked thinner ones. _‘One, two, or maybe he like lots of them?’_ He thought.

His mind decided then, that it wanted to paint and wander as he rested his tired eyes. It painted long, thick buttery-blond hair this time, framing a warm smiling face, and laying on the pillows next to him on the bed. Two dark, passionate grey eyes stared up into his own emerald green ones. They were filled with a tender kindness, yet there were murky shadows of the past that sat behind the plea to be seen – his soul bared open and raw, begging not to judged or held in a forever frozen trial of convictions.

Harry drifted deeper, his mind lulling him into slumber against his conscious desire to do so, but it still painted the sweetest of images. A long body leaned over him; buttery-blond hair tickled his cheeks as the grey eyes got closer to his face. So close. He could also feel the gentle breaths against his lips, and he could feel the phantom pressure against his lap as the body lowered the last few inches to sit there. Harry licked his lips in his semi-slumber. The phantom pressure - pressing a chaste kiss against his own lips, drove him to pull at that thick buttery-blond hair … but his hand grabbed at nothing but air, and it smacked down into his left check and nose instead. 

“Damn!” Harry winced awake. He rubbed his sore cheek and noes, before sitting up and rubbing at his tired eyes. He wasn’t ashamed of his fantasies, rather, he was embarrassed at himself for starting to become attracted to an imaginary figure. He didn’t know Tau outside of the parchment, and his appearance had so much range of possibility within blond hair and grey eye that he could look like… well, anything. He blamed his fantasies on the work load, and the fact that Tau had also been on his mind a lot, so it was no wonder his mind was conjuring up unhelpful reminders of his total lack of romantic or sexual aspects in his life.

Planning, for Harry at least, _was_ the most tiring part of being a teacher. It was tedious, arduous, and it took ages. He also had to give it to Headmistress Minerva McGonagall in two days for approval. He’d been working at his defence against the darks arts plans for five hours straight today already, and he’d only finished about a quarter of the work.

He needed to get on a broom!

* * *

Harry flew across the great lake on his Volant 360 racing broom. The wind rapidly killed his drowsiness, and the thrill of the ride gave him a boost of energy. The volant 360 was made for stunts: better grip, flat top for wind surfing, charmed seating for excellent comfort, and over thirty built in safety charms. Harry would have tried out a few more daring stunts, but he wasn’t dressed in suitable clothing - he was in jeans and a t-shirt - and he didn’t need to burn off his renewed energy when he had more planning to return to.

A light shift of the broom and Harry looped, twisted, and suddenly he was flying back to Hogwarts. He’d had a peaceful, relaxing flight - the summer heat made blissful by the cool breeze that his speed created - and he now felt ready to tackle more of his tedious planning.

It was quiet solitude over the lake as he returned in a slower pace. He’d never seen anyone flying out here before, so it was surprising when that was exactly what he could see now - another rider. He instantly noticed that familiar platinum white-blond hair, almost glowing under the sunlight and reflecting the rays - Malfoy!

Harry was happy to just fly past - get on with his day, but Malfoy decided to fly over to him on his Firebolt Supreme. Harry hovered a few feet away from Malfoy, and apart from being polite, he really didn’t know why he’d stopped.

“Malfoy!” Harry beat him to salutations. He didn’t want any trouble, so he instantly chastised himself for his immediate defensive tone.

“Listen Potter. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. As you so kindly put it, I did indeed act like a ‘prat’ yesterday. We have to work together. It would be nice if we could at least be civil.”

Malfoy’s words threw Harry for a loop. Did he just apologies … to him? Not that he wasn’t grateful for it, but the Draco Malfoy that Harry once knew would never have admitted fault. Twelve years _had_ passed, they _were_ older now and with ages came maturity … but he’d never have expected this from Malfoy of all people. Was Malfoy scheming and up to something? He had wondered why Malfoy would accept the potions professor job and move back to England, when the last Harry had heard, he owned a book store in France and was living with his mother there. 

“Potter?” Malfoy frowned at him, clearly waiting for a response.

“What are you up to?” Harry blurted out before he could arrange his thoughts. He didn’t mean to sound accusing, but Malfoy had befuddled his brain. Before he could rephrase his question - or take it back and just accept his apology like he should have done in the first place - Malfoy had opened his mouth.

“Oh, of course Potter!” Malfoy snapped. “I apologise and therefore I must be _up to something_.” Malfoy spat angrily, drawling out the last three words. “It’s people like you that…”

Harry thought that he really did sound like Professor Severus Snape. Malfoy’s voice was cold, and the words drawled out angrily. Harry blinked, thinking about the man that once loved his mother – unrequitedly, and Malfoy’s angry words died on the wind unheard. Severus Snape was a link in a chain that resulted in his parent’s death, but was also a link in Voldemort’s down full, the cause of his own still beating heart today, and a brave man that lost his life after giving so much so much of it to aid in the war. 

“Potter!” Malfoy all but screamed.

Harry’s head snapped up with a gasp - ‘oh fuck’ on the tip of his tongue. “Sorry.” Harry tried going for shameful instead, but Malfoy just looked like he wanted to strangle him.

“You’re an ignorant, judgmental tosser!” Malfoy’s last words spat at Harry before he flew away in a rage - leaving Harry behind blinking in the sun. 

_‘Great.’_ Harry thought sarcastically, still hovering on his broom. _‘That was the best time to lose my mind.’_

* * *

Harry walked out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, a dark green towel wrapped around his waist. He’d decided to wash away the stress of the day, to let the cool water relax his muscles and give him time to think about what had happened with Malfoy. He still wasn’t sure what to make of him, but he’d decided that it was his turn to apologise. That in itself was just weird, but his last two encounters with Malfoy had been a disaster. 

Knowing he’d take his dinner in his chambers later, he slipped into his short-sleeved pyjamas and black slippers. He threw the towel into the wash bin, then sat down at the table with a fresh cup of coffee. Sighing to himself, he opened the box to start pulling out his lesson plans. 

* * *

Harry managed to make good headway into the plans, but his mind kept drifting to Malfoy - guilt, confusion, questions and curiosity eating away at him. He couldn’t let it sit and go stale, so he grabbed a fresh piece of parchment and decided to send the man a letter of apology and explain himself. He was a thirty-year-old man for Godric’s sake, he could be civil. They weren’t children anymore; they were work colleagues. Unless Malfoy actually did something to warrant suspicion - something other than apologise - he would try to be amicable and polite, and give him the benefit of the doubt.

The hardest part about writing the letter, was admitting something to his ex-rival that was rather embarrassing. If he didn’t admit it, he wouldn’t be able to explain his ‘ignorance’ as Malfoy had put it. It also wasn’t exactly a secret either; the rest of the staff knew. 

_To Mr D Malfoy;_

_I wanted to write you an apology and explain my reaction earlier. I did not mean to respond the way I did._

_I sincerely appreciate the fact that you’d approached me to apologise for your own reaction yesterday in the hall. My epic failure to watch where I was going yesterday was rather embarrassing, and I again, apologise for colliding into you after the staff meeting._

_Firstly, I wish to share with you something that the rest of the staff already know. It is embarrassing, but even my students know it happens to some degree._

_There are times when my mind wanders. It may sound rather silly, but I get washed away on a train of thought and lose focus in the moment. A call of my name, a loud sound, or a simple touch will snap me out of it. That may sound dangerous for a professor of defence against the dark arts, but It never happens when I’m casting spells, and in classes I find it rarely happens at all. The students usually refer to me as the teacher that day dreams._

_I have been teaching here for nearly ten years, and my unusual habit has never been an issue but it is a real lasting effect of my past, and it is quite embarrassing when it does happen._

_I am sharing this with you because that is what happened both today in the air, and when I collided so elegantly with you in the hall after the staff meeting. When you came to apologise, my mind wandered and I zooned out thinking about something else. I am sorry that I reacted badly. If my mind hadn’t wandered, I would have accepted your apology there and then. I hope you can accept it now._

_I am also sorry for the way I reacted; I never meant to imply that you were up to anything, but come on Malfoy, you apologised to ME. For all our history together, it simply shocked me that you would approach me to apologise and admit fault. I guess even after twelve years I still expected you to be the same, and that isn’t something I am proud of._

_I am long overdue in welcoming you back to Hogwarts. Perhaps we can share a coffee on Wednesday, 1pm, my room or yours is fine if you agree. I wish to avoid any animosity in the future. It will be better for everyone if we could start over, and I think coffee would be a good start - unless you prefer tea?_

_I would like to wipe the slate clean, start a new, and take each other as we are now._

_Sincerely,_

_Mr Harry Potter._

Harry got his great grey owl - Lilsiv, to deliver his letter to Malfoy. She was a smart owl, and she had managed to deliver letters to staff members in the dungeon before. Lilsiv was also feisty and stubborn, and he briefly wondered what Malfoy would make of her.

With that now off his mind, he decided to return to his planning.

* * *

With his addled brain - due to over work and tiredness - it started to become obvious that he wouldn’t get anymore planning done tonight. It was quite late, and the words, numbers, and lesson plans were starting to merge together in ridiculous ways. He was also pretty confident that his third-year students should not be trying to defeat a boggart by using the patronus charm on it, but then, he couldn’t think why it sounded like the right thing to do.

Climbing into bed a few minutes later, he almost knocked his magical parchment and quill onto the floor when he lifted the covers. He went to put it away safely, but he noticed the words were no longer his own - Tau had replied. 

** Message from Tau: **

_I am afraid I devoured the ‘Maltesers’ tonight, Padfoot. I will admit, it has been a rather stressful day. I didn’t reply earlier because I had a lot of work to do, and for that I apologise._

_For once it was not your fault, but I still blame you for the murder of my last chocolate. You dangled the prey in front of the chimaera and expected it not to bite. So yes, you should feel bad - shame on you!_

_The Maltesers were nice; they melted on my tongue and surprisingly, I found them rather soothing - distracting even. The chocolate itself wasn’t the best, it lacked the luxurious smooth and velvety taste that one would associate with good quality chocolate, and the taste didn’t linger as long as I would have liked. Your verdict would have to be adequate; I wouldn’t expect great quality from muggles, but that is only because wizard made chocolate is created with magic. I feel sorry for them really, imagine never trying quality chocolate._

_If you get the time, I wanted to recommend a book to you. I am more than curious to what you will make of it. It is called ‘Faults of alliance’ by Treliatio Mcfaduq._

_Tau. x_

** Message end- **

Harry could relate to having a lot of work to do, but his day wasn’t too stressful in hindsight. His run in … well, fly in? With Malfoy was just annoying and distracting. He hadn’t received a reply from Malfoy yet, and Lilsiv had most likely flown to the owlery so she could catch her own food tonight with the other owls.

Tau sounded tired in his letter. Maybe because it didn’t have the same level of cheeky arrogance to it, or maybe it was something else that was off, but he just couldn’t put his finger on it.

Deciding he was far too tired to reply tonight, he slipped the parchment and quill into the draw. Maybe Tau’s message would feel different in the morning. He would reply as soon as he woke up, it wouldn’t do to try tonight; he might write something strange or embarrassing in his tiredness - or say something he shouldn’t.

He was very tempted to tell Tau about Malfoy. He wouldn’t use names of course, and he’d avoid mentioning anything to give away his own or Malfoy’s identity, but in the end … he decided there was no point in bringing that up. He would only sound like an idiot if he did, and he and Malfoy had far too much history to explain everything in a way that Tau would understand.

No, he would reply in the morning and not mention Malfoy at all.


	5. Faults of alliance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to get this chapter out early for you all. XD  
> I am not this quick to update usually, but I want to make sure each chapter is good.  
> I also wanted to thank everyone for the lovely, amazing comments you have all left.  
> So, Thank-you! Thank-you all so very very much.

* * *

“Potter?” Draco frowned at Harry across the small, two-people dining table. Harry’s eyes snapped into focus, meeting two questioning coin-grey ones.

He’d asked Draco how he was keeping, what had made him move to France and then come back to England? Draco had explained; the animosity and hatred both he and his mother had faced - after the war, was the most deciding factor in them leaving the country. Harry understood that, but then Draco had mentioned the night Albus dumbledore was murdered; whatever Draco had said after that fell upon deaf ears - Harry was lost thinking about that night.

Harry thought about sixteen-year-old Draco Malfoy, and the fear on his face back then as he lowered his wand and refused to kill the headmaster - about to accept protection. He thought about the way Draco was now as a thirty-year-old adult.

Having temporarily forgot that Draco was still in the room sharing a coffee with him, he remembered how Draco had looked on his broom the other day for comparison to that awful night. Draco’s hair was no longer suffocated under oils or gel, and his platinum-blond hair hung freely - perfectly even, and it almost glowed under the bright sunshine. Harry thought, it made his messy black hair look atrocious in comparison.

“Sorry Malfoy. I was just thinking about something.” Harry lifted the last of his lukewarm coffee, drinking the strong liquid to hide his embarrassment. A part of himself was now very conscious of his own messy black hair, and he ignored the itch to try, hopelessly, to flatten it.

“Do you do that a lot?” Draco asked, mild concern flickered in his eyes over his coffee.

“No.” Harry shook his head, putting the mug back down. “It usually only happens once or twice a month, if that. I don’t know what’s up with me lately.” Harry chuckled – trying to play it off as unimportant, but then he sighed and looked slightly troubled. His brow frowned and his eyes unfocused as he thought about the increase in his episodes. He tilted his head and scratched at his hairline.

“Do you want me to leave?” Draco asked, placing his own mug down on the table. 

“NO!” Harry almost shouted, the words blurting out before he’d even had a chance to consider Draco’s question. He didn’t have time to wonder why he felt so strongly about that, because he was already trying to fix his mistake. “I mean, n-no you’re fine. This is nice. I mean, it’s strange that we’re here sharing coffee and not about to hex each other, but … it’s pleasant.” Harry gesticulated and then held his breath, offering a small smile and hoping the blond wouldn’t run off. 

They hadn’t shared much: bits and pieces of trivial things, exchanged apologies, and reviewed how prepared they were for the new school year, but … Harry honestly found it nice to have someone other than Neville to talk to.

Neville was the current Herbology teacher, and the only other teacher that was below sixty-years-old, so it could be nice to have another like aged wizard around. Draco was quiet, seemed unsure and guarded, but only twenty minutes into their coffee and the company was almost comfortable between them. It was bizarre. 

“Yes, I must say I’m rather surprised that I have been able to tolerate your company for this long.” Draco’s lips twitched into a small split-second grin, assuring Harry that Draco was indeed joking. “Are you sure that teaching defence against the dark arts is safe. What happens if one of your first-year students hits another with a nasty hex while you are in a mind haze episode?” Draco asked, pouring himself a fresh coffee.

Harry didn’t know how to take that sudden question. He felt his walls stacking rapidly, his mind suddenly on guard. Draco had better not try and cause trouble for him - he enjoyed his work as a teacher. The Auror department had forced him to see a mind healer during his training eleven years ago, it was for that reason that he was declared unfit medically to become an auror. They gave him the all clear to teach at Hogwarts though, and the ‘mind haze episodes’ as Draco had just labelled them, had been occurring less and less every year. If Draco started to cause issues for him now, he would not be happy.

“It’s never happened before. I think the students keep me distracted enough. Besides, I think one of the students would notice and start shouting, don’t you?” Harry tersely explained.

“I was merely curious Potter. You say you have worked here for ten years; I’m sure Professor McGonagall would have let you go if it was an issue.” Draco drawled defensively.

“Well it’s not! I don’t need you trying to cause issues where there aren’t any.” Harry snapped, slamming his hands down on the table as he stood up, and he glared at the blond. Draco had no right to question his ability to teach. How dare he! “My teaching ability has nothing to do with you!”

“Calm down Potter! I’m not your judge and jury. You’re right, it isn’t up to me and I’m sorry for my curiosity on a subject that obviously bothers you so much. Your job isn’t my concern unless it affects mine, and I’m not here to cause you problems.” Draco had remained seated, but he eyes held unblinking into Harry’s.

“Why are you so curious?” Harry asked in a softer tone, but not quite ready to let go of his defensive posture just yet.

“I find strange things fascinating. Your mind haze episodes are strange and fascinating. My questions simply allow me to get to know you better, but if it bothers you so much, I suggest you simply request a change of subject.”

Harry slumped back into his chair and relaxed slightly. Could that be all it was for Draco, a simple curiosity? Or maybe he was trying to get information out of him regarding his condition, gain information that he could later use against him.

Harry sighed in resignation and ran his fingers through his messy black hair. He knew he shouldn’t be so quick to think the worst but … it was Malfoy! Then again, it was ‘Draco’ now, and the blond hadn’t done anything so erroneous yet to make him act so defensive and cagey towards him. How was he to get to know Draco if he always reacted in the negative to him, if he was always so on guard and defensive? He forced himself back to a calm posture and decided that he’d have to trust him. If Harry wanted an amicable work relationship with him, trust had to go both ways.

“I’m sorry.” Harry apologised. “You’re right, it is something that I get defensive over. It’s a left-over symptom of the war, and a condition that cost me a job in the auror department…”

Harry spent a long while letting his guard down, and explaining his strange condition. When he admitted that twelve years ago, he had a form of post-traumatic stress disorder, Draco admitted his own form of PTSD and nightmares back then. For Harry, the PTSD episodes dwindled over the years until they were no more than the occasional nightmare, but he’d started having episodes of one-tracked thoughts about something that reminded him of the war or other reminders of the past. These one-tracked thoughts - or mind haze episodes, were relatively harmless and infrequent, but they could steal his attention quite suddenly if his mind wasn’t active.

“Your mind wasn’t active while flying on a Volant 360 racing broom over the great lake?” Draco asked, one eyebrow lifted in barely masked incredulity.

“Nope. Flying relaxes my mind actually. All the planning we had to do fried my brain. I needed the fresh air and a break. Besides, that’s not … what I mean by active mind is … when I’m casting spells for example. Watching the students battling keeps my mind active and sharp.” Harry explained.

Draco nodded and looked to be contemplating his next question before he asked it. “Would you be comfortable sharing the trigger of your episode that day, with me? I don’t remember mentioning the war.”

“You’ll only laugh at me.” Harry flipped his arms before sipping his fresh coffee. 

“I will not.” Draco countered, but Harry didn’t look convinced. “I give you my word.”

The two men stared at each other in a silent ‘you will, I won’t’ argument, eyebrows raised in stubborn belief of their own opinions, neither backing down.

“Fine.” Harry relented eventually, scowling at Draco’s triumph little smirk. “You remind me of Professor Severus Snape.” He said, rather matter-of-fact.

Harry stared at Draco, one eyebrow raised in silent challenge, waiting for the reaction he’d expected from the blond. Draco’s face was blank for a few seconds, before his thin peach lips twitched. Harry tried to hide his own smile, but his lips slowly acted of their own accord. Draco’s lips then pinched as his face turned red and then … he snorted and laughed silently – his shoulders rocking. Harry chuckled and shook his head, but his smile was one of triumph. 

“Damn you Potter!” Draco complained, shaking his head as he quickly regained his ‘Malfoy’ composure. “How on earth do I remind you of him?” 

“The slow drawl of words. The fact you’re a potions master. And you said something about being - ‘ _up to something_.’ He said the same words to us during our first year at Hogwarts. We _were_ actually up to something, but so was he.” Harry finished defensively, but he still chuckled.

“You’re talking about the Philosophers stone, aren’t you? I remember reading about that.”

“That bloody book! I hate that damn thing, but the ministry bribed me to have it published - to settle down the wizarding population. Too many people wanted to know the story of the ‘boy who lived twice’, they were getting bombarded with owls and questions, and the newspapers were writing contradictory drivel. Owls wouldn’t leave me alone either, so I was forced to sit down with a publisher and spill the details of my bloody life. Mind you, it isn’t a complete record of my history, I may have conveniently forgotten to mention half of what actually happened and tweaked a few of the details here or there.”

Harry sipped at coffee, noting the flash of unrestrained interested in these coin-grey eyes opposite him. It was fun knowing things Draco didn’t, and he found himself enjoying the feeling of teasing the blond.

“Like what?” Draco asked, leaning forwards with a burning curiosity.

“What do I get for sharing private details of my life with you?” Harry asked, slowly placing his coffee down on the table and folding his arms.

“Oh, come on Potter! You’re a Gryffindork, so stop trying to Slytherin me and tell me. There must be something you can share that isn’t in that book of yours.” Draco borderline begged, which warmed Harry and threw him for loop simultaneously.

Harry’s grin grew into a knowing look as he decided what he wanted. He could feel the curiosity now radiating from Draco’s body, burning away at his pompous posture and restrained facial expressions.

“What do you want then?” Draco gave in. His body slumped back in his chair and his mask dropped.

“For you to call me Harry would be a start.” Harry told him, folding his hands together on the table.

“That’s it?” Draco’s disbelief was a façade. Harry knew that he was asking a lot from the blond with the simple request of being on first name bases - to do so implied they were friends. Harry had learnt a lot about pure-blood customs, and the customs of those in higher standing in the wizarding world. The use of first names were reserved for loved ones and close friends, or for those you were trying to manipulate. 

“For now.” Harry nodded with a side smile.

“Okay fine. Harry … please share with your esteemed work colleague, the stories you never shared with the world.” Draco asked in his pompous smooth voice. Harry didn’t miss the reminder that they were work colleagues and nothing more - most certainly not friends yet. 

“Maybe I should publish how I just Slytherined a Slytherin.” Harry smiled triumphantly.

“You wouldn’t!” Draco’s eyes widened a fraction.

“Oh, but I would! But that wouldn’t gain me anything now would it. Would you feel better if I was a Slytherin? If it was a fellow Slytherin that had Slytherined you?” Harry asked, a smug look on his face. Oh, he was really enjoying this. Teasing Draco this way was delicious. Draco had never been on the receiving end of Harry’s Slytherin tendencies.

Once the war had ended, Harry was finally allowed to be himself. He was free to build his own life and make selfish choices. Therapy had helped him realised that he’d always acted how others expected of him, and they had asked him to think about what he wanted for himself - and not because it was expected of him. Harry had finally accepted that yes, he did have Slytherin tendencies; He might not have been that ambitious, but he could be very cunning and crafty when he wanted to be. He didn’t wear his emotions so openly – he was never allowed to growing up anyway, and the media certainly didn’t need to know about his real emotions. 

“It might, a tad … but you’re a Gryffindor through and through Potter … Harry.” Draco frowned, curious to where this was leading.

“Mmm. And what if I told you that I Slytherined the sorting hat into putting me into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin?” Harry asked.

Harry still didn’t know exactly why the hat hadn’t insisted on sticking him in Slytherin, and he didn’t quite believe Dumbledore when he’d told Harry that his choice made him a true Gryffindor – or that Voldemort’s piece of soul within him at the time had been a factor of that. Harry believed that everyone had traits of all four houses, and when you balanced between two rather equally, your choice was simply taken into account. He would never know, and he didn’t care all that much to be honest – not anymore. He was who he was, and quite frankly, he didn’t like the division that came with being labelled a Gryffindor, a Slytherin, a Hufflepuff, or a Ravenclaw for someone’s entire life. Who you are at eleven, isn’t necessarily who you are at thirty? Not to mention that, people had warped views on the traits that set you apart in houses. Slytherin isn’t the house of evil, Gryffindor isn’t the house of the fearless, Hufflepuff isn’t the house of nit-wits, and Ravenclaw isn’t the house of masterminds. 

“I’d say that you were insane. There is no way that-” Draco’s frown deepened. He suddenly caught Harry’s eyes and observed his facial expressions. “No way! Potter that’s … … Only you! I can’t believe this. Tell me everything!”

Harry chuckled as he started his story. If he made it sound a bit more impressive by omission, then … oh well.

* * *

Friday, September 3rd 2010

Harry finished reading ‘Faults of alliance by Treliatio Mcfaduq’, and checked the time - eleven fifty-five am. At twelve pm, he stood up from his desk and gained the attention of his students who were silently finishing a test - to see what they could recall from last year. Harry walked around his desk into the middle of the classroom, the students sat together at the big semi-circle table he had created by magically fusing all of the tables together. 

“Times up!” Harry clapped his hands and the tests flew to Harry’s desk via wandless magic. Most of his student sighed in relief, a few grumbled that they hadn’t finished yet. “Sorry that I subjected you all to a test on your first Defence against the darks arts class of the year, but I need to know what you guys remember so we can focus on revising what you don’t.”

Harry caught Duncan Gibson, passing a note to Monica Reid. He held out his hand and used wandless non-verbal magic to summon the note to himself. He looked at the note – _‘Meet me in the abandon class room at lunch.’_ – and decided to deal with it in a moment. 

“Okay class, remember we will be working on shield charms next week. I want you all to practise the protego charm if you cannot already cast it competently. I will be here Mondays and Wednesdays as you know, three till five. I also expect everyone to research a shield charm - other than the protego charm, and have it ready for our next lesson. I expect at least twelve inches on your chosen shield…” He then turned and pointed to a brown-haired male student with the Gryffindor tie. “…Normal size writing Mathews.”

Mathews looked deflated at that stipulation, but Harry continued to address the room. “Twelve inches, including the different ways it can be useful. I do not want a twelve-inch paper purely on the history of shields, nor do I want a twelve-inch _creative_ list of its uses.”

Harry paused, remembering how a couple of his students last year had handed in a twelve-inch paper with just a long list of uses. It was for a shield charm likewise, but the students had obviously copied each other, and in the long list of creative uses, included shielding them from bullies, against unwanted suitors, and against someone’s flatulence. 

“I expect a nice balance: details, ideas, history, uses, and how it could save your life.” Harry continued. “I want to see the pros and cons of your chosen shield, the technique, how to pronounce the spell to activate the shield, and so on so forth. _Do not_ practice casting your chosen shield unless you know _exactly_ what it is – some have knock back effects, or can be explosive. If I hear of anyone in this class doing so, you will receive detention and I will deduct sixty house points for reckless and endangering behaviour, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Mr Potter!” Echoed around the class room.

“Mathews?” Harry asked, knowing if any of his student were so reckless it would be Benjamin Matthews.

“Yes sir!” Matthews nodded.

“Good. If you are all certain that you know your homework requirements, you may be dismissed.” Harry watched his students pack up to leave. “Except you two.” Harry pointed at Duncan Gibson and Monica Reid. They groaned at him but stayed behind.

“Sir, we have to get to Charms.” Gibson complained.

“You should have thought of that before you decided to disrespect and disappoint me.” Harry countered sternly with an even tone. His arms were crossed and he sat on the edge of the student’s table. “When I am talking it is common courtesy to listen. I do not ask much from my students except that you are polite, mature, and you try your best. Passing notes while I am talking is extremely rude and disrespectful. Your message wasn’t so dire that it couldn’t be passed on after I had finished talking.”

Monica and Duncan looked down in shame. Harry hated it when his students were anything other than happy, but he needed to install the correct values in them so that they grew to be respectfully adults. 

“I will pretend that I didn’t see the contents of that note.” Harry continued. “I was a student myself once, however, I hope that whatever you two are doing is safe for the both of you, and for the other students in this castle. If something were to happen while you two were alone, no one would be able to find you.”

“We’re really sorry sir.” Monica Reid apologised in a small voice.

“Yeah, we didn’t mean to disrespect you Mr Potter. We’re sorry.” Duncan Gibson apologised.

“Very well, but I am still going to deduct ten points from Hufflepuff for the upset you have caused me. You should be grateful that I haven’t given you both detention. I have never been rude or disrespectful to my students; I expect the same courtesy in return. I am _very_ disappointed in you both.”

Reid and Gibson hung their heads once more, completely ashamed of their actions.

Harry sighed and shook his head; he hated having to discipline his students - it really did stir up guilty emotions for him, but once again, he knew it was necessary. Give the student to much leeway and you’ll end up down the road to chaos. He wrote a quick note excusing their tardiness to charms, and handed it to them.

“Off you go now. It’s Friday, enjoy the last of your lessons but remember to _listen_.” Harry smiled as he walked them out of his class room. They waved and hurried off to Charms, their “Bye Mr Potter”, echoing through the corridor.

That was his last lesson for the day. He tidied up the class room with a wave of his wand, scooped up the test papers and the book he had just finished into a box, and then retreated to his private rooms.

* * *

Situated on his bed comfortably, a mug of steaming hot coffee on his bedside table, Harry wrote to Tau using his magical Parchment and Quill.

** Message to Tau: **

_Hey Tau,_

_I finally finished that book – ‘Faults of alliance’. I have to say, I was not expecting that ending. I was hoping that Elliot would reconcile with his family after the tragic loss of his wife. It hit me right in the gut when his daughter, Dulcie, got caught in the cross fire. It is always the kids that affect me the most. It brings back bad memories. The children always suffer the faults of their parents._

_I have never left the country, so I have no experiences to share I’m afraid. I have never thought about traveling abode either, but after your question, I gave it some thought. If I were to travel, I think I would prefer somewhere quiet, peaceful and relaxing._

_Padfoot x_

** Message end- **

Harry had taken lunch in his room, forgone dinner again in favour of grading more homework from the summer holidays, and was currently tidying up the table.

All the students work was sorted into boxes per class, and the boxes where then stored in the box room until needed. All the teachers’ rooms had a box room within their private chambers, a ‘box’ shaped room no bigger than six by six feet in size. Harry levitated the box containing his seventh-year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw’s class essays over and into the small room, settling it down on the shelf next to the others. Shelves ran the length of two walls, the east and west one, leaving the last two bare except for time tables and memos.

He left the small room and closed the door, reminding himself that he would definitely have to mark the second-year Gryffindor and Slytherin’s essays over the weekend - seeing as they were due back on Monday, and he should also make the seventh-year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw’s essays priority as well. He also needed to analyse the results of the start of years tests, and incorporate what needed to be revised into this year’s curriculum.

_‘Well.’_ He thought, as he looked in the bathroom mirror. _‘It’s not like I had any plans or anything.’_

Harry quickly finished up in the bathroom and decided to see if Tau had written to him yet. Relaxing comfortably on his bed once more, he collected the parchment and quill from his bedside table. His smile was instantaneous when he saw Tau’s writing, just like it was each and every time new words appeared. It was easily the best part of his day now. 

** Message from Tau: **

_Good afternoon Mon chéri,_

_I think you would enjoy Cirali beach in Turkey, Ithaca in Greece, or Castara in Tobago. Some places are so vastly different to England, each place having its own history, culture, landscape, habitats and ecosystems. It’s nice to have a change of pace, and there’s something empowering about going abroad that allows you to relax and live in a way that is unachievable at home._

_I am also glad that you finished the book. You finished it rather quickly I must say._

_I personally do not think Elliot deserved forgiveness. He viewed his own family as standard and mediocre at best because they failed to see past their ‘lack of ambition’ and were far too content in their stable, comfortable wealth. He deserted his family, relinquished his family name and ignored their existence. Elliot wanted to manipulate the stars when their place was already established, wanted to play with things beyond his understanding._

_If he had seen with his eyes instead of being blinded by a hunger for power, if he had taken heed of his family’s warnings and listened to the advice of others, he wouldn’t have lost everything he had. His ignorance and blind credulous following of a megalomaniac, along with his misguided ambition, led him to self-destruction including the loss of his wife and child._

_Even after Azorren’s failed experiment in manipulating the magical restraints to his core, resulting in the explosion that killed himself and his Daughter, Elliot let what little pride he had left stop him from returning to his own family. He was completely stupid to believe he could avoid the law and become a fugitive with a four-year-old. He had no money, means or support, and he must have known the sort of life he would be subjecting his daughter to, but instead of acting in her best interests, he acted selfishly which resulted in her death._

_Tau x_

** Message end- **

Harry knew Tau faced constant alienation and enmity for his past, whatever that past may entail, and he couldn’t help but feel like Tau was comparing himself to Elliot. If he was right, he wondered how much Tau related to the character. It had occurred to Harry a few times, that it was too much of a coincidence that Tau should recommend ‘Faults of Alliance’ for him to read. It was the first book Tau had recommended, and he did say himself that he was more than curious of his opinion.

Harry would give his honest opinion, but he chose his words carefully. He felt as if he was being tested in a way, and he didn’t want to say something that would offend or upset Tau.

** Message to Tau: **

_You are not wrong about Elliot’s failures and shortcomings, but isn’t everyone redeemable if they repent?_

_Elliot was only human, and most humans are easily enticed if the temptation, reward and/or reasoning seems great enough._

_Elliot shared Azorren’s beliefs, that wizards had the ability to harness great power if they were only strong enough to release their magic from its bounds and reins. This enticed Elliot greatly due to his character. He believed that wizards and witches could be far greater, that the ministry suppressed magic by forcing the use of wands and governing the use of magic. He believed that the magical society worldwide could become one with the waves of magic that surround us in nature._

_There is nothing wrong with aspiring to be great, and many of the things we have today started with ambition, experimentation and a challenge for change. There is also nothing wrong in believing something that many do not, or challenging traditional methods when evidence points to a better way. It is only wrong when that belief is forced onto people, when people are controlled through power and oppression to conform against their will. It is also wrong when it goes against basic morality, when people are murdered, tortured, or used as pawns._

_Elliot was arrogant, yes, but he wasn’t evil. Azorren lured him, manipulated him, and exploited him. By the time Elliot realised that Azorren would go to any lengths to gain the power his craved it was too late. Elliot felt trapped, confused, and feared for his wife and daughter’s safety._

** Message end- **

Harry put the parchment to the side and plumped up his pillows. He called Kreacher to bring him a glass of milk and honey, and a glass of water for the night. The milk would help him get to sleep after too much caffeine, and it would also tie him over until breakfast.

Harry didn’t have to wait too long for Tau’s reply. He sipped his milk as he read the words upon the parchment. 

** Message from Tau: **

_Even if Azorren manipulated and played Elliot like a pawn or puppet, he still should have acted as soon as he realised the error of his ways - as soon as he realised the danger of manipulating core magic, or Azorren’s sacrificial rituals and murder of innocent victims. Elliot was only enticed so strongly because he was an ungrateful, gullible fool. He should have listened to his family and those who had warned him of Azorren’s dark nature. He failed to ask the right questions or research exactly what he was meddling with, and he followed Azorren’s lead blindly with a thirst for power._

_I don’t believe it was too late for Elliot to save his wife and daughter; I believe he was weak, a coward, that didn’t fight hard enough towards the end. He should have gone to the ministry or his parents for help and sanctuary, instead he stayed. He stayed and abetted in what had eventually led to his wife’s death, along with more bloodshed and murder. He had powerful magic; he could have done a great many number of things to salvage his life and the life of his beloved and daughter._

** Message end- **

_‘Interesting.’_ Harry thought.

Tau seem to hold a very strong opinion that Elliot was at fault and didn’t deserve forgiveness. He blamed Elliot for his blind following of Azorren, even though Azorren was the one pulling the strings and manipulating him.

The fact Tau seemed to hate Elliot’s treatment of his family, well… that spoke volumes of Tau’s own loyalty to family. So far, Harry hadn’t gotten the sense of Tau having anyone close to him. Tau always seemed to be alone, or at least, his writing portrayed it that way.

Tau also felt very strongly about Elliot’s lack of action. The fact that Elliot didn’t get help, didn’t get out of the mess he had found himself in, didn’t save his wife and daughter in time or go to the ministry for help, seemed to be one of Tau’s main concerns with the main character.

It made Harry wonder, was Tau relating to this book on a deeper level then he initially thought?

Harry returned his half glass of milk to the bedside table and carefully constructed his reply. 

** Message to Tau: **

_I suppose I see it from Elliot’s point of view._

_He’d married Azorren’s daughter - his dear Lira, was manipulated into changing his surname to a fraudulent one to hide the muggleborn blood of his great grandmother, and they had their own daughter, Dulcie to think about. By the time he saw the darkness of Azorren’s heart he’d already lost his true identity, stolen and shared deeply confidential information from the department of mysteries, unknowingly been an accomplice in many murders and dark rituals, and his arrogance and association to the Willadon family had stripped him of pubic respect and wealth. I think anyone in that position would feel doomed._

_I imagine Elliot wondering what life he would have had left. I doubt he had faith in the ministry due to his crimes – no matter that he was played or that his hands were forced, and I’m sure he believed his family wouldn’t help him after his treatment of them. He was terrified the ministry would arrest him without trial, take away his daughter and his beloved wife, and he feared Azorren’s wrath._

_He’d tried to warn Lira - begged her to leave the madness that had encased her father, and he’d tried to stop Azorren from experimenting on the restraints that kept his magic stable - warning him that it was too dangerous … but his crazy father-in-law would not listen. Elliot felt trapped, desperate, and he feared judgement. He knew he had been led astray - knew he had been a fool, but he felt that his hands were tied, that he was in too deep and his last option was to run. He wouldn’t leave his wife nor would he take his daughter away from her mother, so he could only leave if Lira agree to go with him. Azorren had ensured that Elliot would have nothing if he left, no money, no name nor identity. What could he have done? It’s very easy for us to as outsiders to look in and make judgment - to see only in black and white, but put yourself in Elliot’s shoes. I don’t think he was a coward, just scared and unable to see clearly._

_Yes, he deserted his family and relinquished his family name, but that wasn’t a crime. He was foolish in that area, young and judgmental of his parents. Families don’t always get along, and it was unfortunate that Elliot felt he didn’t belong - didn’t fit in at home or share his parents’ and siblings’ standards and beliefs. Elliot needed to be around people that shared his desire to achieve great things, and again, it was unfortunate that he found this in the Willadon family. He fell in love with Lira, and Azorren used Elliot’s true romantic feelings for his daughter - and his desire to do great things, to manipulate and brainwash him. Elliot was a victim in a way._

** Message end- **

Harry sipped at his milk as he waited. He couldn’t stop wondering about Tau’s past, his mistakes and regrets.

Tau was the same age as him, so he would have been seventeen or eighteen during the battle of Hogwarts. Not old enough to really be a death eater, but his family could have been. A lot of pure-blood families were back then. He didn’t even know if Tau lived in Britain during the war, but it was also possible that his friends or family were in association with dark magic. It just seemed to much of a coincidence for Tau’s past to not have something to do with Voldemort, whether directly or indirectly. It affected everyone after all. 

Tau’s family could have been followers, leading Tau to follow just as blindly. That would explain his strong opinion of Elliot blindly following Azorren, but it could also just be a matter of opinion. Tau could also feel that way simply because that’s what he believes, but again ... it just felt like a deeper reason.

Maybe Tau had no family, which would explain why he berates Elliot for leaving his. If Tau was alone, maybe death eaters forced him to do things he wouldn’t otherwise do. Maybe he had no choice yet still blames himself for being a ‘coward’, for not refusing. Maybe they killed his family, or held them hostage, or both, and then forced him into following them. Maybe-

Merlin, there were a lot of maybes. He really should stop trying figure it out before he gave himself an aneurism. It could just be Tau’s belief and nothing more. Tau’s past could easily be something non related to Voldemort, and it was pointless trying to compare Tau to a bloody character in a book. 

Harry tapped his fingers, trying to get his mind out of the past. It must have been a good hour before he received Tau’s very short reply. 

** Message from Tau: **

_Are you saying that you would forgive Elliot?_

_Even after he deserted his family, blindly followed Azorren, broke the law multiply times, assisted in murder, and failed to protect his wife and daughter because he was a coward?_

** Message end- **

It had taken Tau over an hour to write that very short message - unless of course, he had been busy – but Harry didn’t think so. No, Harry felt like Tau had been lost for words and didn’t know what to respond with. The fact Tau was asking about his ability to forgive Elliot, only strengthened his own feelings that this was a test.

Maybe Tau wanted to see if he would forgive Elliot, because if he did then that would mean he would forgive Tau. Again, maybe he was just reading into all this, trying to hard to compare Elliot with Tau, but he knew what he wanted to write back. 

** Message to Tau: **

_Yes Tau, I would._

** Message end- **

Tau once again took ages to reply, and that just seemed to confirmed Harry’s thoughts. He tried not to think about it too hard as he finished the last mouthful of milk.

The fact was he didn’t care. He didn’t care what Tau had done in his past. If he one day met up with him, and he really hope he did, he would find out the blond man’s history then. Tau was funny, sweet in his own way, arrogant defiantly, but so interesting and charismatic. He loved talking to the blond, loved trying to figure him out like a tricky puzzle.

He looked down to see Tau had finally replied. 

** Message from Tau: **

_Why?_

** Message end- **

The long response time and the disbelief he could feel radiating of Tau’s words, convinced him that he wasn’t going crazy. No, Harry was certain now that Tau’s opinion of Elliot, was his opinion of himself - or to some degree at least. What else could it be?

If Tau wasn’t stumped for words, then he would have criticised Harry’s opinion. He would have written his argument and tried to persuade him otherwise, calling him a peculiar man or something to that degree. The simple ‘Why?’ was screaming at him, screaming with confusion and disbelief. 

He wished he knew what Tau had done in his past to warrant such self-contempt and damnation. Either he was sorely mistaken everything, or his response was going to be his finally test. If Tau accepted his answer, then maybe, just maybe, he would accept that Harry really wouldn’t judge him for whatever he had done in the past. 

** Message to Tau: **

_Elliot was young, easily moulded and brainwashed. He fell in love and was led astray. Everything he thought was right turned out to be wrong, and he tried to get out of it all. His wife was blind to her father’s evil megalomaniac deeds, and she didn’t want to believe Elliot even though she loved him._

_Elliot thought they would change the world for the better, but he never would have condoned the methods Azorren used to reach these goals if he had known about them. Elliot may have been arrogant, he may have left his family because they didn’t share his ambition and goals in life, but I ultimately blame Azorren._

_Azorren took a keen, eager, ambitions young mind, and he used it to his own advantage. Azorren saw the magical power in Elliot - a remarkable magical core with great potential – and he used him, manipulated him, fed him lies, hid his nefarious deeds of murder and human study from him and his daughter, and borderline threatened and blackmailed him into doing his bidding._

_Elliot just wanted to please his father-in-law. He believed Azorren to be a great wizard with ambition and aspiration, someone to follow and role model after. He was drugged on love, the promise of achieving great things that would reshape the wizarding world, and he loved the feeling of being accepted for who he was._

_Elliot didn’t want to believe the truth when it started to come to light - he didn’t want his illusion of greatness to shatter … but it did. Elliot was torn with guilt, regret, panic, fear and devastation. Azorren had ruined his life, left him bound with his hands tied and gasping for air. All the good Elliot thought they were doing together, all the wrong things he had done believing they were justified for a greater purpose, was ripped, shattered, unravelled, and left naked and bare._

_I cannot fault Elliot for being led to the slaughter: Azorren was just too cleaver, too cunning, and he knew how to play his cards just right. I cannot blame Elliot for being fooled. Elliot became a victim of a mad man’s climb to power._

_The aurors were too quick to judge Elliot, too quick to hold him accountable for the deaths of his father-in-law and wife, and they failed him and Dulcie. When Dulcie died in the cross fire, and the grief and pain erupted from Elliot - exploding out in a destructive wave of wild magic, I knew then that Elliot had died. He could not live with what he had done, could not live with the grief nor the pain of failure, or the belief that it had all been his fault. It wasn’t all his fault, yet he blamed himself._

_Elliot had a heart. He knew his faults and regretted them. I believe he had learnt his lesson, that he would have eventually rekindle his relationship with his parents had he been given a chance, but the auror and the ministry department failed him in epic proportions._

_So yes, I forgive Elliot._

_It was a sad ending that the young man never got a chance at redemption._

** Message end- **

Harry waited for well over an hour for a reply, but non came. His eyes were growing heavy, and he knew that he would fall asleep shortly.

He left the parchment out as he climbed under the covers, and he checked it one last time before his eyes closed. If he wasn’t so tired, he might have laid there thinking for hours, but the fatigue quickly ensured that Friday September the 3rd became a thing of the past. The next time his eyes opened, it would be Saturday.


	6. Precarious nature of trust

Monday, September 6th 2010

Harry’s second year Slytherin and Gryffindor class were due soon, but he found himself sat at the teacher’s desk staring at the magical parchment with the purple quill in his hand.

Tau hadn’t written anything since Friday night, not one word over the weekend or today so far. He was worried that Tau would contact Le’Amortentia and request a cease of contact. He desperately hoped that wasn’t the case, that Tau would reply and they could continue this instead … whatever _this_ was. He missed Tau, missed being about to converse with the mystery man behind the parchment.

Over the last three weeks, he had grown used to having someone to talk to that didn’t know him for the ‘boy-who-lived’. He thought they were developing a real connection between them, one that promised a possibility of a face to face meeting one day. The thought that it was all just suddenly over, hurt in ways he wouldn’t have expected at all; he felt lonely and disappointed - a sense of dejection twisted with perplexity shadowed over him, and it was as if he was grieving for man he had never met.

It was stupid, he knew he would get over Tau, but he didn’t _want_ to get over him. That was what shocked Harry the most, that he was so desperate to keep Tau in his life - even if it was just on parchment. Three weeks and he was already growing attached. It had only been a few days since he’d last spoken with the man, yet the thought of losing Tau completely was enough to make him realise how important Tau was becoming … or how important he already was to him. 

Was he that desperate for company, for connection and love, that he would dive right in and take whatever came? Was he really that easy?

No! If that were true, he could have had any man that promised loved and devotion - even if they were just after his fame. What if that was the problem though? This was the first man to like him and not know of his fame, and that right there was so appealing - being liked for who he was and not what he had done, or what the books and news had said he’d done anyway. He liked Tau, was sure it was mutual, and was sure they would have at least started a good friendship together if it didn’t lead to romance. 

“Mr Potter!”

Harry’s head snapped up and he blinked as he took in his full and waiting class of second years. Every single student was sitting with their books, parchment and quills, and wands ready to go. He smiled, embarrassed, as he put down the purple quill in his hand and stood up. He hadn’t been having a mind haze episode this time, but he was certainly lost so deep in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard his class arriving. 

“We can’t be that boring sir!” Carlton Anderson stated, a Gryffindor with shoulder length brown hair pushed back from his face.

“Day dreaming of anything interesting this time sir?” Lilium Zabini smiled, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. Lilium was just like her older brother Blaise Zabini. He had met Blaise a few times regarding his sister, as their mother wasn’t too willing to be involved in her daughter’s schooling. Blaise was just as out spoken, loud, and brazen as Lilium was.

“Merlin forbid if I were, and you were to find out about it Miss Zabini. But no, unfortunately. Thank-you for alerting me to your arrival, and no, never boring Mr Anderson.” He smiled at his students as he walked around his desk. “I trust you all had a great summer vacation, it’s good to see you all back for your second year.”

“Good to be back sir!” Richard Emerson shouted, an outspoken Gryffindor. “What are we doing today?”

“Ah. Well, I’m sorry to say that after you all hand in your summer essays … I need you all to do a start-of-year recap test.” Harry winced at the noise of protest, the complaints only getting louder the longer he allowed them. 

“Oh, come on sir! It’s our first defense against the dark arts lesson of the year.”  
  
“Yeah, and we’ve done too many start-of-year tests already.”

“I can’t believe-”

“It’s so unfair that-”

“Alright, alright! That enough now, settle down!” Harry’s deep voice boomed across the room. His students hardly ever heard him use this tone, and it successfully silenced the room. “It’s a simple test recapping on what you remember from last year. It should be easy enough, and you don’t have worry about marks because I won’t be marking it. The idea, as you should be aware of by now, is to decided what first year material needs to be revised. I can forgo the test if you like, but then I will be forced to give you an immense load of homework covering the entire curriculum of first year. If you want the extra homework, and would like to see your current defense against the arts teacher run screaming from his private chambers in the middle of the night, barefooted and in his pajamas, because he went crazy with the work load, then perhaps that can be arranged?”

A few students laughed at the image he’d painted.

“As funny as that would be sir, we’ll do the test!” Alice Graves giggled.

“Yeah, you’re one of our best teachers sir. The others teachers are older and not much fun in classes.” Alexander Marston said, nodding along with the majority of the class.

“Be careful what you say Alex, I might think you’re being disrespectful.” Harry warned him with a half-smile.

“Sorry sir!” Alexander apologised.

“Right!” Harry stood up straight and clapped his hand together. “Summer essays please!”

* * *

Harry was back to staring at the magical parchment, but this time he was in his private chambers, sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by essays and homework he had yet to grade.

He had been trying to decide all day if he should write something to Tau or not. He didn’t want to come across as desperate, but he really wanted to know if Tau was still speaking with him or not. ‘ _Damn it._ ’ He though, picking up the quill and deciding to just go for it. He’d never get any work done if he just sat there staring and waiting.

** Message to Tau: **

_Hey,_

_How was your weekend?_

_Work has been keeping me busy but I must admit, it has been rather dull without your words to brighten things up a bit._

_I hope you are well,_

_Padfoot. x_

** Message end- **

Merlin, he sounded like a sap, but at least he’d tried. He could do no more now other than wait … and hope.

* * *

Dinner time rolled around and Harry joined the teachers at the dining table. McGonagall had sent him a note earlier asking him to join them for dinner. It was her way of politely reminding him that the teachers were expected to attend the evening meals with the students - at least for most evenings during the week, and was also her way to ensure he didn’t keep skipping meals. He swore that woman had self-claimed herself to be his grandmother – not that she would say that or admit it, but she was always concerned about his health and well-being. He wasn’t complaining; he liked Minerva McGonagall, she had always been there for him when he needed a wise conversation, but he wished people would only ‘offer advise’ if he asked for it.

He’d ended up sitting at the end of the table, next to Draco Malfoy, and as he’d sat down Minerva had leaned forwards and greeted him. 

“Good evening Mr Potter, it’s nice to have you with us for once.” She’d smiled in satisfaction as Harry started to fill his diner plate, before turning to continue her own food, and her conversation with Professor Flitwick. 

“Hey Draco.” Harry greeted him with a nod, filling his mug with coffee. Caffeine had certainly become a necessity if he had any hope of getting through all the students’ homework, along with lesson plans and such. 

Draco just lifted his fork in recognition, and nodded once before continuing on with his own food. It looked like the blond was eating what was left of his Yorkshire pudding and mash potatoes, the veg and meat already eaten. Harry had chosen a small scoop of carrots, lots of beef and a bit of gravy.

Harry ate in silence, watching the students as his duty as teacher, and wondering what pudding might be sent up tonight. Once the main course was finished, he found out: Double chocolate gateau, black forest gateau, ice-cream, and fruit salad bowls. He sighed … no treacle tarts.

He heard a snort of amusement from his right, and he turned his head to see the blond helping himself to the double chocolate gateau. 

“What?” He asked Draco.

“It’s obvious. You’re disappointed the elves didn’t send up any treacle tart.” Draco chuckled and shook his head, popping the spoon of chocolate gateau into his mouth.

“How did you know that?” Harry frowned, helping himself to the chocolate gateau too. 

“You were my school rival. I had to know everything about you.” Draco said, as if it was obvious and not kind of creepy.

Harry shook his head, not really knowing what to say. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done his own spying on the blond when they were students.

Harry soon finished his pudding, content to watch the students finish their own food, but he watched as Draco took a second helping of double chocolate gateau … … then a third.

“You’re going to be ill if you eat all that.” Harry warned him, feeling bloated just watching. How Draco wasn’t fat was a mystery if he ate that much all the time, as it was, Draco was rather skinny and pale. Now that he was paying more attention to the man, it also looked like he hadn’t been sleeping.

Draco just shrugged, and continue his pudding without a care in the world.

“Fancy a coffee at the weekend?” Harry suddenly asked. They hadn’t had a chance to talk since that Wednesday, and their last chat had gone well in the end. It would be nice to keep up the friendly calm they had created.

“I often do.” Draco replied putting another spoon of gateau into his mouth. He swallowed before continuing. “If you’re asking me, if I want coffee with you however … then why?” Draco turned to face him.

Harry shrugged, wanting to make seem like he wasn’t bothered either way. “Have a chat, get to know each other a little better I suppose. Company. It’s up to you. The offer’s there.” Harry leaned forward and picked out a grape from the fruit bowl, popping it into his mouth.

“Why do you want _my_ company Potter?” Draco asked. Harry though that Draco sounded much older than he actually was, tired and worn out.

“Why not?” He shrugged again, ignoring the use of his surname, but Draco leaned closer and whispered into his ear.

“Because I’m a death eater Potter, and I made your life hell.”

Harry frowned, wondering what to say to that. He was just about to answer when he realised Draco was leaving the Great Hall. Harry quickly chased after him, muttering - “excuse me” to the teachers at the table. He ignored the student’s curious looks as he bolted from the Great Hal after their potions teacher, and caught up to Draco in the hallway.

“That was the past Draco! I don’t give a fuck about that.” Harry told him, meaning every word. Draco rubbed his face and Harry thought he looked confused.

“How can you just forget everything I did?” Draco snapped.

“Where the hell is this coming from? I thought we were okay. And no, I won’t forget. I can’t forget. But I have forgiven you.”

“I don’t want your forgiveness Potter!” Draco spat, walking off to his chambers.

Harry just watched him go, standing there utterly perplexed and confounded.

* * *

Harry finally decided to write Draco a letter that evening, he was going to send it with Lilsiv but decided he needed the walk. He had no idea why he felt the need to keep trying with Draco, not when the man appeared to dislike his company anyway.

Draco Malfoy was a bit like a magnet though; whenever Harry was around the blond man, he was drawn to him. Before, he was drawn to him for other reasons, but now … now Draco was like a muggle yo-yo. Up, down, and never knowing which ‘Malfoy’ persona you would get. The one he had the privilege to see during their first coffee on Wednesday the 25th August, certainly wasn’t the one he’d seen today. He wanted to know who the real Draco was – the moody git from today, the one he’d had glimpse of at coffee, or someone else entirely? How many masks did the blond even have?

He’d been roped into spending a few hours with Neville the other day, and although he liked the man, he could only process so much information regarding plants. Draco talked about things he could relate to: flying, being judged by the media, teaching now of course, and the effects of the war to some degree. Harry also enjoyed the teasing between them, yet they seemed to be able to hold mature conversation. They also had a history together that included saving each other’s lives, and Harry was sure that Draco needed a friend just as much as he wanted someone to talk to that wasn’t a child or over sixty. Yes, Neville was great, but he needed topics other than what Hellebore plants could do, or what Hannah was going though now she was pregnant. He needed more interesting or challenging topics, and Tau still hadn’t replied either.

Hermione and Ron had their own lives – when they weren’t meddling in his, and they were growing distant. They would forever be his first and best friends, but they talked about their own lives – their families, their kids, and their job’s. Harry didn’t really have a ‘life’, and when he was in their company, he often just sat there nodding along with another drink they’d pushed his way, or picking at the snacks they’d set out. 

It wasn’t long before he found himself outside Draco’s private chambers. He dug up his courage and knocked, waiting for the door to open.

“Potter?” Malfoy frowned, obviously not expecting company.

“I’m sorry … for whatever I said to piss you off earlier. Here, I just wanted to give you this.” Harry handed the short letter out to Draco, his body already turned in preparation to leave once the blond took it. 

“What is it?” Draco frowned, eyeing the folded parchment.

“A letter.” Harry drawled cautiously, as if it was obvious but not wanting to annoy the man.

“Yes, Potter. I can see that! What’s it about?” Draco asked, annoyance gritty on his tongue. 

“Just read it.” Harry told him, and then turned to leave once Draco finally took the letter from his hand. He was all the way down the hall when Draco called.

“Potter?”

“Yes?” Harry stopped and turned around. It looked like Draco had started to read his short letter.

“I hope you have better coffee for Saturday.” Draco shouted so he could hear him. “That last brand was mediocre. I suggest Odgen’s Olde fire whiskey.”

Harry chuckled, and nodded. “Got it! See ya then Draco.” He smiled, then he half-heartedly saluted before turning the corner.

“See ya Harry.” Draco called, Harry just about hearing him.

* * *

When Harry glanced at the magical parchment the next morning, he expected it to be blank. His heart whooped childishly however, when he saw a new message upon the parchment, a smile instantly taking over his lips as he started to read. 

** Message from Tau: **

_Padfoot,_

_I must first apologies for my absence, I had a lot to contemplate._

_This is painfully hard for me to admit, but I am terrified that the calm sea we are currently in will drowned me if I go too deep, or if I get too comfortable with the current and it suddenly changes._

_To quote a book I read once - ‘To love is too risk. Therefore, to love is too be brave.’  
Change the words ‘love’ from that quote to ‘opening up to another’, and it still applies.  
I am not brave, Padfoot. _

_I find myself missing our shared words, more so than I fear your rejection, but I am a coward. For me, admitting such things is a huge risk, and not something I will ever do lightly._

_I realise that I cannot live in fear or else I will not be able to live at all, but fear is powerful and hard to fight._

_My past actions haunt me Padfoot, and I wish I could tell you of them so that I may know for certain your reaction. All I can do is ask you this – If there ever comes a day when we meet, and I find the courage to tell you all the wrong I have done, will you promise to keep an open mind and not forget all the words we have shared on parchment? Will you remember that I am not my past, that I am not the same person I was back then?_

_Tau x_

** Message end- **

Harry was about to write the words ‘I promise’, but he took the time to think about it first. Could he make such a promise and keep it?

Tau had never pretended to be perfect, to have a shiny past or pretend to be an angel. Tau was scared that his past would ruin whatever they were to build between them - whether that be friendship or eventually lead to more. All Tau was asking for, was a promise that he didn’t forget that Tau’s present actions shouldn’t be distorted by the knowledge of his actions in the past. That Harry didn’t find out about what he had done and slam the door in his face. There was also the subtle hint that Tau would find sharing his past difficult, and would only do so if he had the courage.

Harry thought that he could ask a similar promise, that Tau wouldn’t suddenly see only his fame and fortune. This was what the secret parchment service was for, to get to know each other as they are now - not the past, not the lies and stories the media made up, but each other’s true personality. Harry was sure there would be instances of his own past that he would feel hesitant to share, so Tau wasn’t alone in that either.

Yes, he could grant Tau’s promise.

** Message to Tau: **

_I am elevated to see your word’s once more Tau._

_For a moment, I feared that you would cease speaking with me. Please don’t. At the risk of sounding like a sap, I have grown to very much enjoy our conversations._

_If I happen to say anything that bothers you, I’d rather you tell me so that I may learn better than to forever wonder what it was that sent you running._

_I promise you, that If I ever learn of your past, I will not judge you for it. My opinion of you will stay based on who you are now, the man you have become and not the boy you once were. I know this is hard for you to believe, that until I know your past and then say the same thing to you, you will find it hard to accept my words. I can only ask that you trust me._

_Take the risk and trust that I am a man of my word._

_Padfoot. x_

** Message end- **

Harry hoped that now they could continue to get to know each other, and that Tau would trust him to honour his word. It felt like a heavy weight had been lifted of his chest, and he was just waiting to find out what Tau had to say to him now.

It was a short while later, as he was drinking his coffee and finding the necessary boxes for today’s classes, that he got his reply.

** Message from Tau: **

_Thank-you, Padfoot.  
_ _I will try to trust you, but my trust in people is rather fragile._

_People close to me, people I trusted, lead me astray once and taught me such depraved and flawed views on what was expected of me and my future. I was ignorant. Why wouldn’t I trust those that were meant to love and teach me, to guide and help me achieve my best?_

_It no longer matters what views and beliefs they hold. My eyes were opened._

_However, to suddenly see your entire life and knowledge twisted out of comprehension, to question everything you once thought you knew, it shatters one’s ability to trust._

_I will be candid with you Padfoot, I like you.  
I enjoy our conversations, and your absurd and peculiar personality is rather intriguing and refreshing. You have opinions that you are not afraid to share, yet you seem open in ways that strike me as a very accepting individual. I do hope you are not overly sweet and cheerful, that would be rather too sweet for my liking I must say, but again, you do not strike me as such. _

_You have made me a promise, now I will make you one.  
I promise not to run should your words send me ‘running’, I will, as you have asked, tell you so that you may learn better. I doubt you will however, for I have accepted your outlandish behaviour thus far. _

_Tau, x_

** Message end- **

Harry smiled and chuckled, he really like this guy, but he had a lot to contemplate.

This was the most open Tau had ever been with him, and it was both enlightening and intimate simultaneously. It was more personal than they had been before, and it let slip more of Tau’s life then was safe to do. Tau was taking risks, trusting him to some degree.

Harry now knew that someone close to Tau - his parents most likely, had expected Tau to following in their footsteps or to grow to be like them at least. If he’d read this correctly, then Tau’s parents held views that he later saw as flawed and depraved. It sounded like he was no longer on good terms with whoever he’d trusted before, and that break of trust had left him alone and scarred. 

Harry wasn’t surprised, that kind of betrayal would leave its mark on anyone.

The Dursleys had raised him to believe he was a freak, and he’d found it hard to trust that anyone would accept him if they knew who he really was. He’d learnt at the age of eleven, that the Dursley's views were wrong however, even if a part of him always suspected, but he’d been forever scarred by them.

Dumbledore had led him to the slaughter, and whether or not the old man knew he would live or not after Voldemort had AK’d him, he’d still kept secrets from him and expected him to sacrifice himself for the world. Harry hadn’t known any better back then, and why wouldn’t he trust the man that played the part of a caring grandfather? He’d simply felt as if he hadn’t really had a choice back then either; it was the life of a freak with no real family to leave behind, or the rest of the world. 

Harry sighed. He had to reply to Tau and pull his thoughts out of the black hole that had started to form in his mind. He’d learnt a lot about Tau, but he hadn’t given the man much back. What could he share with Tau that wouldn’t give away his identity? 

** Message to Tau: **

_Trust is a delicate thing Tau.  
That you will try and trust me is more than enough. _

_I find myself suddenly drawn to admit to you, that the last of my family hate me. I am not exaggerating. We do not speak. They do not want to see me or associate with me at all. I firmly believe they view me as dead to them, but I want nothing from them likewise._

_They taught me that I wasn’t worth the mud beneath our feet, and that the air I breathed was wasted. I believed them for so long that I still find myself believing their words on rare occasions. I know better now, and any trust I had in them to care for me was lost a long time ago._

_I had no real role models growing up, and the people around me treated me as fragile at times. They kept secrets and treated me like a child. I was a child technically, yes, but for many years I had to raise myself. I had very few people to trust, and everyone expected things of me that I didn’t understand. I trusted anyone that was kind to me, perhaps craving the need to have someone I could trust._

_It becomes a burden when you carry so much alone that you need someone to off load on. The problem with that, was that people didn’t like it when I was angry, upset, or confused. I was to smile and act like everything was okay. I was just a child, what could I possibly have to worry about?_

_I had a lot to worry about, I promise you that, but I cannot share them details with you yet I’m afraid. I just hope you believe my word._

_I have had people pushing me to believe certain views on things - and anything else was wrong of course, and I have had people expecting me to become something that I didn’t understand nor want to be. Nothing nefarious I promise you, but still not what I wanted._

_I like to think I am my own person, that I do what I want to do. I no longer try and be what others expect, and I think people are finally getting that message._

_You should know that I like you too by now Tau._

_If my absurd and peculiar personality is something you can tolerate, then I have high hopes that we will become very good friends - if not more. I’m quite sure I can adjust to your arrogance likewise._

_I am definitely not overly sweet or cheerful, but I like to try and see things from a positive view. I like the quiet as I have said before, days spent basking in the sun, or contemplating in the wind. I like flying on clear days and looking out on the horizon, and I would love to come home one day to a family of my own – no matter how crazy they may be._

_Padfoot, x_

** Message end- **

Harry put down the quill after sending off his message. His words stocked kindle to a lot of bad memories and emotions that he’d been avoiding, but he needed to give Tau a glimpse into his past. No one really knew about the Dursleys, and it wasn’t something he’d ever told the publisher about for that bloody book – expect that he had live there for eleven years and during the summer holidays. Only Ron and Hermione really knew that they treated him with the kindness one would treat an un-welcomed pest, and even then, they didn’t know the full details.

Harry dragged himself out of his thoughts, ready for a hot shower to start the long day. His first lesson started at 9:40am today – having no class first period, but it was already 8:20am so he needed to get a move on. He’d missed breakfast, but Kreacher could always bring him something later.

As he slipped out of his pajamas and climbed into the shower, he hoped that Tau receive his reply well and didn’t think he was playing the aggrieved party. His intention was to show a degree of sympathising, and to show equal willingness to be as open with Tau as he was with him. He’d never been this open with anyone before, he thought, as the warm water ran over his face, and that was both exciting and terrifying simultaneously.


	7. Playing with fire

** Saturday, September 11th 2010 **

Harry sat a bottle of Odgen’s Olde fire whiskey down on the table, with the two glasses already there amongst a range of finger foods Kreacher had brought up - seeing as 6pm was the middle of dinner time, and he didn’t know if Draco intended on eating before he arrived. Harry had eaten at lunch time, and he would be perfectly content with the food Kreacher had brought up. He was wearing black jeans and a pear-green checkered shirt. It was nearly 6pm, and Harry checked the note he’d received from Draco earlier.

‘Harry,

If you’re still insistent on enduring my company this evening,  
have the whiskey ready for 6pm.

D.Malfoy.’

Yes, it was definitely 6pm that Draco intended on arriving. He had ten minutes until he showed up - to decided if he should prepare coffee or not as well, but Harry found himself frowning at Draco’s handwriting instead. It looked very familiar the way his O’s looked like small hair curls, or the way his M’s looped in the middle, but he couldn’t place why it looked so familiar. Maybe it was familiar to a student’s handwriting, that would probably be it.

Six minutes left.  
Harry shook his head - no! He would leave the coffee for now; he could always make some when Draco was here if they decided on it. 

Four minutes left.  
He wondered if he should stand by the door - - no! If he answered the door too quickly then Draco would know he’d been waiting for him. He sat on one of the old-but-comfortable dark-blue armchairs that he’d conjured instead, a small rectangle table between them - a small wooden thing that was rather dark, and tapped his fingers as he waited – fidgeting with his hands.

Two minutes remaining.  
His fingers continued to fumble together as he waited, and he wondered why he was so nervous this time around. He didn’t want to impress Draco, per se, but he also didn’t want him to have a reason to moan or insult his abilities as a host. ‘ _Which is ridiculous_.’ Thought Harry. 

He jumped when he heard three smart raps at the door, he almost tripped over the coffee table in his initial rush to open the door. He took a calming breath – blew away the ‘Wrackspurts’ as his old friend would say, and then went to open the door.

“Evening Potter … Harry.” Draco nodded.

Harry smiled and welcomed him in. Draco had been doing that a lot this week – saying ‘Potter’ then following with ‘Harry’ after a short pause, when they’d seen each other at dinner or in between classes. Harry guessed it was his way of reminding Harry of their friends - not friends’ status. ‘ _Stupid Pure-blood customs’_. He thought to himself.

“Sit where ever!” Harry smiled, going to the whiskey. He lifted the bottle for Draco to see. “I can do coffee if you’d rather have something else.”

“Scared that you can’t handle your drink, Potter.” Draco’s left eyebrow raised on its own – something Harry almost frowned at. He couldn’t lift one eyebrow, and it was so tempting to try that he almost did. Draco had such expressive features when his wanted to use them.

“Course not!” Harry shook his head, pouring two glasses of the tawny coloured Whiskey. He handed a glass to Draco before sitting down in the arm chair opposite him. They both sipped at the whiskey, and Harry felt a slight burn as the sweet flavour slipped down his throat. Draco looked around after his first sip, and over at the food. “Help yourself. I didn’t know if you had eaten or not. I didn’t bother with dinner tonight personally.”

“Thank-you.” Draco nodded once. “And no, I haven’t had anything since lunch.”

Harry nodded, suddenly feeling awkward. They’d managed to start up a conversation last time fairly easy, so what was with the uncomfortable silence this time? He tried not to stare at Draco, but he glanced up and smiled as Draco caught his eyes. _‘Merlin – they were some spectacular coin-grey eyes._ ’ Harry though, coughing once as he looked away. People always said he had some shocking green ones, but he didn’t think his were anything special.

Harry put down his glass, deciding anything would be better than sitting their staring, and went to the food table. He filled his plate with mini sausage rolls, chicken nuggets, and some stuffed vol-au-vents. He didn’t notice Draco behind him until the man spoke.

“Do you always have a strong proclivity for meat?” Draco asked, going for his own plate. Harry had to think what that word meant for a moment and frowned, but it seems he took to long. “Prefer Potter. I’ve noticed you always chose to fill your plate with meat.” Draco explained, adding some salad, a few stuffed vol-au-vents, and devilled eggs to his own plate.

“I knew that.” Harry mumbled. “And yep, I prefer meat. Especially beef.”

“Mmm. I’d advise more greens, but I fear my concern for your diet would be ill received.” Draco drawled.

Harry laughed, causing Draco to raise both his eyebrows. Harry almost dropped his plate, having to sat it down while tried to stop laughing.

“Dare I ask?” Malfoy drawled again, completely confused, but Harry just started laughing harder.

“Sorry, Draco.” Harry finally chuckled, rubbing his eyes from the tears that had formed there. He exhaled, picked up his plate, and went to sit down in the arm chair. Draco followed his lead, waiting for an explanation. “You just reminded me so much of Professor Severus Snape sometimes. For a moment, I couldn’t stop visualizing him saying those words to me.”

“In your book, you swear blind that he was a spy for Dumbledore - that he was a good man. But I thought he hated you and vice versa?” Draco asked, eating his way delicately through a vol-au-vent. The crumbs neatly caught on the plate.

Harry wondered how much he wanted to share with Draco. He sipped at his whiskey, deciding that it couldn’t hurt to be a little more open with the man.

“He was in love with my mother.” Said Harry - to his plate of food. His head shot up however, when he heard Draco chocking on his vol-au-vent. “You alright?” Harry asked with a wince.

Draco nodded, but he was coughing an awful lot. Harry rushed to get him a glass of water, which Draco took gladly. The blond then scurried like a frightened mouse back into his sophisticated composure - slamming his mask back into place and trying to hide his embarrassment.

“You must be joking?” Draco asked hesitantly. Harry shook his head with a sad smile.

“It wasn’t reciprocated." Harry explained. "Severus, met my mother before their first year at Hogwarts - they lived closed to each other in Cokeworth. They became very good friends, but Severus made mistakes and their friendship suffered for it. He never stopped caring for my though." Harry paused and sipped at his whisky. "He hated my father, and by extension, he didn’t like me - I think I reminded him to much of James. My father saved his life once, but it was my godfather’s fault that he needed saving at all. He repaid that life debt in first year, using a counter curse on my broom when it started bucking. Do you remember that?”

Draco nodded, obviously overwhelmed with all the new information he had just received.

“Blimey Potter -- Harry. That certainly sheds some light on things I’ve wondered for years. Professor Snape had it out for you from day one - everyone could see that, and I always suspected it was more then the fact that you were a Gryffindor.” Draco frowned in thought, sipping his whiskey - his index finger tapping the glass.

“For all he hated me, he wasn’t happy when he realised that I had to die. I don’t think he did hate me though - not really. He hated the fact that half of me came from James, yes, and he expected me to act like my father, but he couldn’t completely avoid the half that was my mother. I also think that a lot of it was a cover. He had to show me a great dislike because he knew that Snake-face would return at some point. If dear old Tom looked into Severus’s mind, well, it had to be believable.”

“Professor Snape was a great occlumens though. He’d have to have been, if he was able to fool the -- Tom, for so long that is.” Draco wondered aloud, stopping himself from using ‘The Dark lord’ as his title - he didn't want to give the man the title of 'lord', and Tom seemed fitting seeing as the man had apparently hated it.

“That’s just it though. He would have had to have let Tom into his mind to show his loyalty, at least some parts. I think Severus was just that good - that he could hide the information away that he really didn’t want Tom to see, while making it seem like he was opening his mind to him.”

“I think my respect for the man just tripled.” Draco breathed. “Do you know how hard that would actually be Potter -- Harry?” Draco lent forward with a frown; his food mostly eaten now.

“I think you’re about to tell me, but I know that it would have been hard.” Harry sipped at his whiskey, eyes still on Draco over the glass.

Draco _did_ elaborate on the difficulty of Occlumency, and how he was good at it but could never have achieved that level of the skill - the level that Harry believed Severus to have achieved. They talked about Severus for a long while, getting through three more glasses of whiskey in the process. Eventually they moved on to what Draco had been doing in France for the many years he had been out of England.

“…She went up to mother and asked if we stocked ‘Charming coitus charms, by Fanny Lotus.’” Draco laughed from his position on the floor, his face red with humour, and a fifth glass of fire whiskey in his hand.

“She didn’t?” Harry laughed wholeheartedly. “What did your mother say?” 

“She kindly handed the teenager over to _me_. Her face was beet red.”

“The teenager’s, or your Mothers?” Harry asked, trying not to laugh anymore because his side was already burning … or that could be the fire whiskey … or both.

“Both!” Draco burst out laughing – his laughter was breathy and almost quiet though, his body rocking with mirth. His pale skin was washed with a warm glow, his eyes danced with merriment, and he had to put down his drink so that he could double over and laugh freely.

“Well, what did you do?” Harry asked through his own laughter, gripping at his side.

“I found her a book on abstinence and told her we didn’t stock the book she wanted.” He struggled to get out his words. “She …. She left in such a hurry, throwing the book down on a shelf on the way out.”

The two of them just laughed until the humor finally abated, chuckling for a while after. Harry couldn’t imagine what he would have done if a teenage girl of about seventeen had walked into a store he owned, and asked for a book on sex. Right now, however, he was floating in the radiance that Draco was giving off. Harry had never seen him so carefree and … happy. He looked radiant and … gorgeous.

Harry didn’t lose his smile, but he made a mental note that he needed no more fire whiskey tonight. He’d dated enough men to know how it goes: you get drunk, you kiss, maybe shag, then wake up regretting last night. He really didn’t plan on doing that with Draco; it would be so awkward if he had a one-night fling with a work colleague, but it was on his mind - no doubt about that. _Draco must be in with the top ten best looking men of Britain_ , he secretly thought to himself.

Draco suddenly stumbled to his feet to use the restroom, and Harry laughed as he almost walked into the door frame. Harry pulled himself up onto the armchair, just catching platinum-blond hair vanish into the bathroom, and then Tau came to his mind quite suddenly.

He _couldn’t_ think of such lascivious things he'd liked to do with Draco's body, when Tau was most likely waiting for his reply! He suddenly felt very naughty indeed, and quite self-abashed.

Merlin – he was drunk!

Harry started thinking that he must like pure-bloods, because Tau was also a pure blood -- Draco also had blond hair, and they both-

“Harry.” Draco caught his attention, cutting of his train of thought. “I think I better return to my room; my legs feel like jelly.” He slurred ever so slightly, and as if to prove his legs had lost their proper function, Draco had to grab the dining table to prevent a fall. He chuckled as he stood up straight again. 

“Perhaps you’re right. It is getting late.” Harry slurred slightly, wobbling as he stood to see Draco out. “I had fun tonight Draco.” Harry smiled.

He really had enjoyed Draco’s company, but now, as he looked into stunning grey eyes, he wondered what kissing him would feel like. But no more then a second later did he think of Tau again. He didn’t want to betray the trust he had started to gain with the mystery man: even if Tau would never know, _he_ most certainly would. He had no intentions of leading either man on either, It would only end badly. He was also well aware that he was drunk, and his desire to make out was most likely due to that – it was a flaw that had resulting in him waking up with a few unknown men from muggle bars before. 

“I did too Harry. You’re not a total failure of a host you know. Perhaps we should do this again sometime.” Draco smiled, sliding out the door and into the draughty corridor.

“I’d like that. Will you be okay getting back? It a long way down to the dungeons.” Harry frowned slightly as Draco wobbled.

“I’ll be perfectly fine.” Draco tried to ensure him, but as he went to walk away, he nearly tripped.

“I’m not so sure of that. And you have to get down stone stairs…” Harry knew he’d be useless walking down with Draco - he was just as bad, but then he had a thought. “Kreacher!”

Kreacher appeared and bowed, looking slightly annoyed at having been called so late.

“Kreacher. I would appreciate it very much if you could get Mr Malfoy safely to his rooms. I fear we drank too much fire whiskey.” Harry explained. Kreacher bowed again, muttering nonsense, and then he walked over to take Draco’s wrist. Harry had fears of Draco falling down the stairs – moving stairs at that. 

“Harry, I’m fine really I-”

“I insist Draco! I won’t be able to live with myself if something happened.” Harry pleaded.

“Alright!” He relented. “Goodnight Harry.”

“Goodnight Draco.”

Then Kreacher disappeared, taking Draco with him. Harry shut and locked his door, and headed straight to bed. He would clean up tomorrow. He flopped down on the bed in his clothes, and was out like a light.

* * *

** Friday, September 17th 2010 **

Harry had just finished third period and was done for the school day. He levitated two boxes into the small box room in his private chambers, and then made himself a coffee. He soon plopped himself down on the edge of his bed and pulled out the magical parchment and quill he had left behind today. 

** Message from Tau: **

_Morning mon chéri,_

_A white picket fence is very cliché, but the rest is almost perfection. I enjoy potion making, so a lab would be added to my own property. I also enjoy a vast sized garden, the seasons each bring wonderful views and evidence of rebirth and change. That such a change can bring so much new, yet remains the same in its cycle each year, is rather astounding don’t you think?_

_My own home would have a large library, a window seat to read next to the window, and hundreds of books to peruse at my will._

_If you have never really had a ‘home’ as you say, and only a place to live, I hope that one day you will find one. Family-love; it is the key ingredient in any house to become a home._

_Tau. x_

** Message end- **

Harry smiled lovingly at that notion. What would it really feel like to return ‘home’ to a family that wanted you, that loved you, that was all yours?

They had shared deeper desires with each other since September 7th, and he would be lying if said he wasn’t crushing over the illusion he was creating of this man. It _was_ an illusion - to him at least, because until he met the man he couldn’t be sure if the real version was … well, real.

He could say he was besotted with the Tau, but he wouldn’t dare ask to meet the man yet - he was scared his perfect illusion would shatter, it was to soon. At some point, they would have to meet. He couldn’t live his life on parchment, and what if Tau was as real as his words implied … he would miss out on something that could be wonderful - a physical relationship instead of a parchment one. Someone he could return to, share his bed with, hold hands and sit next to, and share his life with. Someone he could kiss, love, and maybe spend a life time with. If he clung to his parchment, whether or not Tau became the man for him, he would miss out on a very real relationship. 

For now, he would continue with his quill and parchment, and continue to crush on the illusion he was painting in his mind - it was such a splendid and delicious illusion.

** Message to Tau: **

_Afternoon my chéri,_

_Each season of the year certainly has its own beauty, but for some, certain times unfold particular memories. I love the winter. Summer holds less-desirable memories for me, as does autumn and Spring. Although Summer is the worst. I won’t deny the eternal reminder that everything must end to begin anew, or that yes, each season has its own offerings to give, but they also remind me of the past._

_Time has a funny way of remining us of things lost to the past as it continues on ahead to the future._

_If I had a ‘home’, I wouldn’t care if it has a white picket fence or a five-foot stone wall, or even a moat … all that would matter to me is that my family were safe. I wouldn’t care if it was white, black, or green, as long as it was filled with happiness and love._

_Padfoot x_

** Message end- **

Harry drunk his coffee now that it had cooled down, and waited to see if Tau would reply. He had things to do before the day ended, and he had work to mark. Once he’d tipped back the last sip of his drink, he decided to come back to the parchment later.

He left his empty cup on the dining table, went to the small box room to gather a list, and then left his chambers. He had to go and speak to Draco about a few potions he would need in two weeks-time; It wasn’t quite lunchtime yet, so he would try the potions classroom first.

* * *

Harry knocked on the potion classroom’s door. He didn’t have to wait long until Draco answered it with a frown before he realized who it was. Draco appeared to be slightly curious of his unannounced arrival, but he realized the man still had a class in session. Before Harry could apologise for interrupting, Draco spoke first.

“Come in Mr Potter.” Draco moved aside and gestured him in. It was obvious that Draco was referring to him in the formality because they had an audience of students. “I was just dismissing the class. You can wait at my desk.” Draco pointed to his chair behind the teacher’s desk.

Harry was tempted to just plop his butt on the edge of the desk, but this wasn’t his classroom so he sat in the chair as instructed. He felt a little strange sitting in Draco’s chair, and quite a few of the sixth year Gryffindor and Slytherin students frowned between him and Draco. Draco regained their attention quickly and continued as if Harry hadn’t just interrupted them – which made Harry all the more curious; he expected Draco to complain about his timing and tell him to piss off to be honest – maybe not quite in those words but to that extent, not welcome him in and offer up his chair. 

“As I was saying…” Draco glided between the student tables as he spoke, not unlike that of one Professor Snape but with more elegance. “I expect you all to know how to create the Hiccoughing Solution by your next potion lesson. The potion takes precisely forty-three minutes to make – if you are competent, and seeing as your next lesson with me is last period on Monday, anyone who fails to make the potion correctly will stay behind. I suggest you familiarise yourself with the process thoroughly, because there will not be time during the lesson. Any questions?” 

“Yeah. What’s he doing here.” Silas Avery, turned his Hazel eyes to glare at Harry.

“Detention Mr Avery!” Draco’s voice was cold and icy, piercing through silence.

If Harry had been his student, he would have feared for the rest of his school year, but Avery just sighed angrily.

“Fifty point will be taken from Slytherin…” Draco glared at the boy. “And you will remain behind. The rest off you may be dismissed!” Draco was obviously angry.

Harry went to stand and talk to Draco, but the blond man just shook his head. Harry remained seated, watching as the other students hurried to leave the classroom – only a few of them even said – “Good bye Mr Malfoy.” The anticipation of what Draco would do now was making him uncomfortable for some unknown reason, he felt out of place, but he was curious about the blonde’s student teacher relationship and how he would deal with Mr Silas Avery. It appeared that the students held apprehension in regards to their potions teacher, much like they had done when professor Snape had been their potions teacher in 1991. Harry never feared Severus Snape – he was used to being treated unfairly by the Dursleys, but the man was an arsehole … yes, that about summed it up – a great man, a hero, but an arsehole! 

When everyone had departed the classroom, Draco folded his arms and sneered at Silas. It took a lot for Harry to stop comparing Draco to Severus, to stop thinking about Severus, but he was determined to listen to the blond and not let him mind wander.

“Congratulations Mr Avery, you are at the apogee of my patience.” Draco drawled, keeping his voice calm, but Harry could almost feel his rage heating the room. “You have no right to address another teacher with such blatant disrespect. I don’t care who you are. You may not like everyone of your teachers, I may not like all of my students, but respect is fundamental if you wish to achieve anything in your life. This is your last warning Mr Avery: If your behaviour and attitude does not improve, if you anger me again, or if you so much as cough wrong… I will see to it that you are expelled. Do I make myself clear?” 

Avery held his head up high, eyes fixed on Draco’s. It looked like he was going to argue, and Harry wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Silas Avery was a difficult and argumentative child, one that acted extremely entitled and obstinate. Harry use to have difficulties with the boy in defence against the dark arts in the past, often ending with him ignoring rules and injuring other students. Harry had yet to prove that he had been hurting other students for the sheer fun of it, and were not, as Silas had claimed, ‘an accident’. However, with too many incidents, Harry had refused to accept him for N.E.W.T level defence against the dark arts – and was no longer teaching the boy.

Silas finally dipped his gaze and answered with anger coating his calm words. “Perfectly!” 

“You will report to me every night this week from 8pm until 10:30pm. You will also report to Mr Filch at 9am on Saturday morning, and you will work for him until 5pm, only being excused for one hour during lunch time. On top of that, you will report to me on Sunday at 9am. I will give you a detention slip when you return here tonight at 8pm. You are dismissed!” Draco was almost hissing at the boy, but he held calm and Harry had to commend him on his restraint – He himself, had yelled at the Silas a few times in the past because the boy had a way to make even his blood boil. 

Silas’s eyes landed on him before he ambled out of the classroom, impertinently leaving the door open for Draco to close behind him. Draco swished his wand, sighing in frustration, then turned to Harry.

“Why do I feel like there is history between the two of you?” Draco suddenly asked. Harry was impressed with his observational skills.

“Probably because there is.” Harry sighed. When Draco sat on the edge on of his desk – looking down at him, he stood up. “I refused to accept him for N.E.W.T level defence against the dark arts. I knew he had the potential, but I had to give him an ‘acceptable’ in his O.W.L.s. On top of that. I always had to remove him from class – every lesson he managed to send another student to the hospital wing, and his essays where always opinionated instead of based on facts. Not to mention, that some of them, were borderline dark in nature.”

“How so?” Draco asked with a slight frown. Harry sighed, thinking of which example to use – there were so many.

“I asked the students once – last year in fact, to revise the three unforgivable curses and explain the signs, how to counter them, and what to do if you suspected someone to be Imperiused. Mr Avery’s essay stated that the ministry was filled with fools to have banned them, believing that the killing curse should be used to remove criminals that deserved it, permanently. He went on to express his opinion that if you allowed yourself to be Imperiused then you deserved to be used as the ‘weak-minded idiot that you obviously were’. His opinion of the cruciatus cruse, was that it was useful.” Harry paused to rub his face before continuing, sighing before taking a deep breath.

“His essay on that, was rather short, so I graded it as poor for the lack of facts … but during that lesson, when I handed their work back to them, Mr Avery created a scene over his grade. I won’t go into the details, but when another student showed their pride at receiving an outstanding mark, he mumbled that the killing curse would ‘help a lot with natural selection too’. I gave him detention, deducted house points, but even though I knew exactly what he was referring to, I had no solid proof to take to McGonagall. It was also later rumoured that he had been practising the Imperius curse on first year Hufflepuffs during that week, but without any evidence, nothing was ever done about it obviously.” 

“I knew he was a difficult student, his file was shockingly heavy, but I must admit I didn’t really read it all. I wondered if it was exaggerated due to his placement in Slytherin, and that his father’s been in Azkaban since the battle of Hogwarts. I decided to judge his character based on my own observations. It doesn’t look good for him I must say: always in detention, constantly losing house points, fighting with other students including those in his own house, and I’m always receiving complaints from teachers and students alike.”

“I almost forgot you were head of Slytherin now.” Harry’s smile was brief before he shook his head. “McGonagall agreed with me that Silas wouldn’t be continuing with my classes, but Avery’s mother was particularly verbal and threatening. She threatened to report me to the ministry for unfair treatment of her son because his father was a death eater, accusing me of being prejudice and vindictive. Ever since then, Silas sneers at me when we cross paths. I fear the boy will grow up to be more vindictive than his mother claimed _me_ to be. Of course, Silas is nothing but an angel in his mother’s eyes, and the boy plays the part well in her presence.”

“Of course.” Draco agreed, shaking his head in what Harry assumed was disappointed and shock.

“Well, not much can be done about it, the boy turns seventeen sometime in January.” Harry shook his head and sighed, deciding to change the subject. “I came to see if you could brew a few potions I’ll need for my lessons in a few weeks.”

“Still rubbish at Potions Potter … Harry.”

“I might have been better at it if a certain student hadn’t found amusement in sabotaging my work…” Harry smirked when Draco mocked offence at the insinuation. “…Or if my teacher at the time wasn’t an arse.”

“I thought you had a new found respect for our lost Potions professor.” Draco frowned slightly.

“Oh, I do. Doesn’t mean he wasn’t an arse hole.”

Draco chuckled and shook his head. Harry found himself mildly jealous - Draco even chuckled elegantly, it was soft, breathless and warming, where as his own was deep and rough.

“What do you need?” Draco asked, his coin-grey eyes still alight with humour and warmth. Harry thought the look suited Draco, made him look attractive and friendly.

Harry took the list from his pocket and went over them with Draco. He needed the antidote for pixies, blood replenishing potion and bite solution for vampire bats, and several vials of the beautification potion for the red caps he was introducing to the first years. Most of the potions he needed were emergency precautionary measures, but the beautification potion was an effective method to repel red caps. 

“We missed lunch.” Draco stated, after he assured Harry that he would see to it that the potions were ready for him in time. “I have no lesson to teach this afternoon. I assume you don’t either, or you wouldn’t still be here. Do you wish to join me for a bite in the kitchen?”

Harry looked up at Draco and couldn’t help but wonder what his angle was. Yes, they had a great evening last week - when they had both had a bit too much to drink, but Harry still wasn’t sure that Draco enjoyed his company. This would be the first time that Draco has asked for his company - and not Harry making the invitation, it was rather surprising really. A pleasant surprise actually – Harry decided, seeing as he had started to really enjoy Draco’s company, and he was learning to read the complex man.

Draco was looking at him, waiting for his answer, and Harry caught the way his eyes flicked down nervously… Was Draco nervous? Harry then saw the blond swallow as he made eye contact with him – uncertain maybe? Harry smiled at him, making his decision. 

“Sure, why not.” Harry’s smile grew slightly when he saw Draco’s shoulders relax. Draco was relieved that he had accepted his invite, and it made Harry wonder why. What had changed?

* * *

Harry returned to his chambers after a rather long lunch in the kitchen. They must have gotten there at about 2:30pm and it was now nearly 4:00pm. They had spoken more about Mr Silas Avery, moved on to the topic of teaching and certain other students, and then Draco had elaborated on how he came to own a book store in France with his mother. Apparently, they already owned the store, but it had been a shop that dealt with artefacts of a darker nature. The man that ran the store had disappeared, and with living arrangements upstairs above the shop a comfortable two bed apartment, they had decided to gut the shop and move in. After realising that book shops were lacking in the area, they had started a reading corner as they sold of what artifacts remained that were not cursed or dangerous. Eventually they used the money from the sales to stock up on books, and soon enough it became a popular book store serving tea or coffee.

Draco had returned to England because McGonagall had written to him and asked that he teach potions – that she was in urgent need of a potion’s professor. What had shocked Harry the most, was that McGonagall had kept in touch with Draco after the war – initially the first letter was regarding his return to Hogwarts for a re-do of seventh year, but he had declined. McGonagall had been rather persistent, but Draco even more so. Their correspondence just never stopped after that. Draco had mentioned a few times, in his letters to the headmistress, that he was studying under a French Potions master’s tutelage, and had told her a few years ago that he had finally acquired his own master in potion - and had become a potions master now himself. Draco had agreed to take the job as potions professor because the headmistress had been kind to him, and he’d wanted to used his new skills for something.

Harry sat in the armchair he’d conjured the other day - having deciding to keep the furniture in his Hogwarts chambers, and sipped at the coffee Kreacher had just left for him. He realised he was proud of Draco for making a real go at his life. The obnoxiously arrogant boy Draco had once been, was now a grown man that deserved respect for turning his life around. Yes, Draco was different now … or perhaps, he was truly just being Draco Malfoy for once. Now that there was no one to order Draco into servitude of a dark lord, no one to force him into doing things that he didn’t wish to be apart of, he could be himself. Harry liked the Draco Malfoy he was getting to know now, and he wondered – not for the first time – what Draco would have been like if he – himself, had been placed in Slytherin house and had accepted the boy’s friendship. 

Harry sighed and suddenly thought of Tau. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that he found Draco attractive, or that he warmed when around the man when Draco was in a good mood, but he had a huge crush on the illusion he'd created of Tau. He was scared that he might start developing a stronger attraction for Draco, and then he would have to choose between the two of them. Right now, he was sure that he didn’t like Draco in that way, but … there was just something about him that Harry could see the possibility.

Harry shook his head and decided to write to Tau again - he hadn’t checked to see if the man had responded to him yet. The though of Tau made him smile like a child in candy store – ridiculous! At least no one was around to see, and no one would know that the butterflies in his stomach swooped when he saw Tau’s reply. He was playing with fire, but the flames were deliciously addictive, and totally worth the risk of getting burnt. 

** Message from Tau: **

_Mon chéri,_

_The winter is a secretly designed assassin from mother nature, and snow is wet, cold and murderous!  
Why would anyone like winter?   
  
Ah, Mon chéri particulier, I prefer the spring. The end of winter, and the season of beginnings and new life. I am sorry that you have ill memories of the past, maybe one day you will have new memories to replace the bad, and a home filled with the happiness and love you desire. _

_Time waits for no one Padfoot, and it certainly doesn’t erase memories. In fact, ‘time’ isn’t even real – it is a noun, a measurement constructed by humans to measure and explain moments that we perceive as the past the present or the future. The only moment that is important is the here and now; what we perceive as the past is gone, and tomorrow will never arrive. Certain stimuli call forth memories, whether that be a familiar scent, a sting of words that reach our ears, a particular date in the calendar year, or something we see that reminds us. It isn’t time reminding us of the past, but our minds._

_Everything we do, everything we are, and everything we see, is the result of the complexities of our mind._

_Tau x_

** Message end- **

Tau certainly knew how to make Harry think about things he wouldn’t have even considered before. Time felt very really to him: Eleven years of suffering with his aunt and uncle - not including the five awful summer holidays there, fourteen years since he lost his godfather, nearly an entire year living from place to place in a tent – with Hermione and Ron twelve-thirteen years ago, and twelve years since the battle of Hogwarts.

However, what Tau said also seemed to make sense – that it wasn’t time that reminded him of the past, it was in fact memories trigged by something or another. The summer heat - especially near gardens, always reminded him of the long hours he’d spent weeding his Aunt’s garden, the fact he’d had to return to them at all, and the remaindered that it was the summer holiday after his fifth year that he mourned for his Godfathers murder alone. Halloween in August, always reminded him of the day his parents died and he became an orphan. May day always reminded him of the battle of Hogwarts, and the day he lost many people to the war. Even though it was a particular time of year that reminded him of these things usually, it wasn’t time itself doing the reminding.

Now he was thinking about time itself. What exactly was time? Who came up with the idea to label it? Was time even real?

He was giving himself a headache; that kind of thinking was far to complex for his mind and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it either, but there was the other thought Tau had given him. _‘Everything we do, everything we are, and everything we see, is the result of the complexities of our mind.’_ What in Godric’s name was he suppose to say to that? What did he even think of that?

It was nearly 5pm now, he really should go down to dinner in the Great Hall… but he wasn’t hungry. He really wanted to take a shower, climb into his pyjamas, and leave the homework marking for tomorrow. With any luck, he might have something more intelligent to respond to Tau with after his shower.

It wasn’t the first time Tau had left him stumped for words, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last time either. The things Tau came out with sometimes…

Harry shook his head as he removed his clothes. He walked into his bathroom and turned on the shower. The water heated fast, and after checking he had a towel to use once he was done, he climbed in and let the water cascade down his body.

…They might be crazy things, but Harry loved the way Tau’s mind worked. His philosophical and theoretical way of thinking was intriguing and intelligent. He respected that about the man, and found it an attractive trait…

Smiling as he washed his hair, he imagined what Tau was like to look at. Rinsing his black locks, he wondered what Tau’s hair felt like. What would it feel like to be touched by the man, and were his hands soft like he’d imagined? And Kissing?

His body burned with needs, and suddenly… he remembered that night with Draco - how they’d both consumed one too many glasses of fire whiskey, and how he’d briefly had lascivious thoughts of Draco’s attractive body and what he could do with it.

…Oh yes, he was definitely playing with fire. 


	8. Halloween Slips

** Friday, October 29th 2010 **

Harry was sat in his private chambers - marking homework assignment at the small kitchen table, when he heard the door knock. It was about half two in the afternoon; he hadn’t been expecting anyone.

“Draco.” He greeted in mild surprise once he’d opened the door. His stomach seemed to squirm, but he firmly ignored it and gestured for the blond man to come inside. “Coffee?”

“Please.” Nodded Draco, sitting down on one of the dark blue armchairs that Harry had kept since their firewhisky night.

Draco and Harry had made a habit of meeting up every fortnight or so for coffee - or whiskey when they’d had a bit of a busy week and needed the pick-me-up, but Harry had certainly not been expecting the blond man today. Draco had never showed up without arranging anything first.

Harry was still terrified that his feelings for Draco sat precariously on a precipice - likely to tip into something more than platonic friendship if he wasn’t careful, and he was still growing fonder of Tau every day.

His crash on Tau was a blossoming like wild flowers in an undisturbed meadow, he was caught hook line and sinker, and the man’s personality was so intoxicating and charismatic. Tau’s words were both witty and refined. The man radiated intelligence, eloquence, and of course, that light, playful, amusing arrogance of his -- but he always made him smile, laugh, or contemplate things he wouldn’t have before. The man also had a calm, appeasing quality to him; the type of calm that Harry could imagine in front of a crackling fire, with coffee and gentle conversation; the type of calm that was coming home from work and embracing each other. 

Draco was fucking gorgeous – attractively so in the, ‘Mmmm’ department. He was pleasant company for the most part - now that they’d dissolved their enemy status and false notions of each other, and it seemed like Draco enjoyed his company vice versa, but the man was still closed off, guarded, and his personality was mercurial. Draco was also real – very real and very much present.

Coffee made; Harry frowned as he sat down in the armchair opposite Draco, noticing that he seemed to be in deep thought and pondering something. “Everything okay?” He asked. 

“Mmm. Sorry for intruding on you unannounced Potter -- Harry, but there was something I wished to discuss with you. Mind you, it might be nothing to worry about.” Draco sipped at his coffee, but Harry could see the slight frown he tried to hide. Draco appeared concerned or worried. This was Draco in a serious mood.

“Don’t be -- sorry that is. I was just grading. What did you want to discuss?” Frowned Harry, watching as Draco lowered his coffee and taped the side of the mug with his ring index finger in thought. Harry sipped at his own coffee and waited.

“I just had the sixth year Gryffindor and Slytherin class.” Draco alluded.

“Silas?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrows and lowing his mug.

“Indeed. They were making the draught of living death a couple of week ago. I believe that some of Mr Avery’s potion had been missing at the time – the quantity was off even after he’d handed in his sample, but I can’t prove it. I tested the sample myself; it appears stronger somehow –- more potent. That is rather worrying.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Asked Harry, suspecting he knew which way this was leaning, but he wanted to see what Draco had concluded himself. He hadn’t really spoken to Silas Avery since that day in Draco’s potions class – when the boy had demanded to know what he had been doing in the class room six weeks ago, and they tended to avoid each other in the halls and such.

“Today, I overheard him talking to Mr Korbin Fraizer-”

“That’s the Slytherin boy with the long black hair right –- really pale skin, quiet, hardworking?” Harry asked, confirming the face to the name.

“Yes, that’s him. I didn’t hear the entire conversation, but I did hear this: ‘… _that_ certain teacher needs to take a long nap, he works far too hard.’ His tone was rather angry.”

“You think -- You think he was referring to me?” Harry asked.

Harry was expecting something like this, but It _was_ worrying; the draught of living death, at normal potency, is an extremely powerful sleeping draught which sends the drinker into a deathlike slumber. Harry didn’t dare imagine what it could do when strengthen. Although he was sure he could handle it, he didn’t want to think that Silas would actually try to do something of this magnitude –- and all over being denied for NEWT level Defence against the dark arts. 

“The prejudice against my house is not as it once was; I was surprised to see the unity of all four when I returned, but Silas’s attitude hasn’t changed with the times. I see a teenage boy holding onto to archaic and dark views, views similar to those that dark lord once held. I would not underestimate him, and I would be careful –- he holds a grudge against you Potter - Harry, that much was obvious during his detentions with me.”

“I’ll be careful -- but do you really think he’d go that far?”

“As much as I hate to admit it, yes!”

They both drunk their coffee in unison, an ominous feeling – like a chilled draught, swept over them in the sudden silence. 

* * *

** Saturday, October 30th 2010 **

“I assume you both have something to discuss that couldn’t be mentioned _during_ the meeting.” Alluded Minerva McGonagall, eyebrow raised at her ex-students. She’d obviously not been expecting anyone to stick around after the short staff-meeting they’d all just had - regarding Halloween, and especially not Malfoy and Potter - together.

“It’s regarding Mr Avery.” Said Draco, cutting straight to the chase. Minerva’s face fell and she sighed, understanding now why they had waiting till everyone had vacated the room.

“What has he done this time?” She asked, resigned and wary.

“Draco and myself believe he intends to harm another teacher.” Harry informed her, sitting down in the chair to the left – in front of Minerva desk.

“Intends to harm you, you mean.” Draco corrected, giving Harry a pointed look as he followed suit – sitting in the chair to Harry’s right, before returning his gaze to Minerva. “I believe he may have an altered version of the draught of the living death, and that he intends to slip it Mr Potter’s way.” 

“We don’t exactly have solid proof, but I think we need to be careful – prepared. There’s a possibility that it _isn’t_ me he targets – despite that being the most obvious outcome.” Harry explained. He glanced at Draco, wondering when the blond started to care for his safety. 

“What brings you to this conclusion? It’s a very serious accusation, one that will have to be handled with upmost care and caution. I cannot simply confront Mr Avery without further proof.” Said Minerva, but her tone suggested that she believed them and was hoping they had more to go on.

Harry and Draco shared a glance, then together, they started to recount everything they knew so far.

* * *

** Sunday, October 31st 2010 **

Floating, carved pumpkins illuminated the Great Hall in autumn-orange light, and a charmed – almost sentient, cold breeze traversed the Hall - sweeping past Harry every few minutes as he checked the food and drink for contamination at the extravagant buffet table.

It was almost anticlimactic. The vibe of Hogwarts Halloween when he was once a student was ominous at best, and wasn’t Halloween supposed to be scary? Hogwarts made it feel friendly somehow, fun and animated, and it had been that way since the war – since he’d been a teacher here. Harry supposed that murdering parents, letting in real grown trolls, letting out a Basilisk, breaking out criminals to attack the school, allowing terrified students to compete in dangerous tournaments, and announcing that the most fearful dark lord is back and wants to murder you all – – well, Harry wasn’t going to complain about the change, that’s for sure.

The threat currently, was that a student may slip him – or one of the other teachers, an altered version of the draught of living death. Draco was confident that the Wiggenweld potion would still be the best first course of action should anyone be poisoned, and a few teachers had vials on hand. They seemed to have everything under control, there was no evidence to say that Silas would actually do anything nor that it would be tonight, and It certainly wasn’t as deadly as Basilisks or dark lords. 

Draco flowed in next to him as he was checking the Halloween punch, and Harry glanced at the uniform the blond was wearing.

“What on earth?” Frowned Harry.

“It’s my old school uniform Potter.” Draco informed him, but that much was very obvious – right down to the ugly pointed hat they used to wear during the starting feasts and such. The green underside of his black cloak looked brighter somehow – as did the green in his stripped tie, and _fuck_ did it bring back memories! 

“What – H-How does this relate to Halloween?” Asked Harry.

“I'm a wizard.” Draco explained, as if it was obvious, and he was smirking proudly at his own attire. “And what are you supposed to be?” He frowned at Harry, eyeing him up and down.

“Dracula.” Said Harry, frowning as he looked down at himself. He was rather proud of his black cloak – the red silk underside matched his red gothic waist coat, and he couldn’t understand why it wasn’t obvious who he was supposed to be.

Draco snorted. “You do realise that Dracula is muggle nonsense right. Vlad III Dracula - Prince of Wallachia in the 15th century, was bitten by a vampire - Raynould Euanes to be exact. Vlad was a wizard that declared genocide against all vampires because one turned his brother. Vlad killed his brother, believe him to be dead already, but then Raynould turned Vlad as a punishment. Vlad went mad with rage; attacked the Ottoman empire – which was infiltrated by vampires, and Vlad got himself killed. He was a vampire for a few short weeks, and they found his decapitated remains scattered on the battlefield after the Ottomans cut up his corpse. The ministry at the time, failed to erase the memory of all the muggle witnesses: a few slipped away with their memories intact, and thus, Dracula stories were warped and pasted down as mere stories in the muggle world.”

Harry winced. “Nice of you to shit on my parade.” He muttered, suddenly making a mental note to research wizard history before choosing next year’s Halloween costume. It didn’t help that Halloween brought up bad memories for him, and he’d tried to make an effort every year for the sake of the students. 

“You're welcome. Always happy to educate lesser minded beings. You should at least lose the ridiculous teeth Potter – Harry. No vampire walks around with their teeth out like that - they appear before they feast on a poor unfortunate soul, and they are much more terrifying.”

“Thanks—” Harry drawled bitterly, removing the charm on his top canines. He felt rather stupid now to be honest. “Did you just come to insult my costume or-”

“I came to check you were still breathing actually. Wouldn’t want to miss the show if you suddenly dropped dead – the boy who lived, killed by poison at the hand of a teenager. I’d pay a lot for front row seats.” Draco smirked, eyeing up the spider decorated chocolate muffins on the table.

Harry rolled his eyes and went back to testing the food with his wand – shaking his head in disbelief. Draco was certainly a massive puzzle; no one could simultaneously insult him and show concern for his well being in the same breath the way this man could. That was another conundrum though, that Draco even cared about him at all.

The sudden, drawn out moan, had Harry turning to face Draco once more. Draco had taken a bite of a chocolate muffin, his tongue darted out to the side of lips - not wanting to waste any of his chocolaty treat. He failed to noticed the way Harry was now staring at him, nor the way Harry’s tongue slithered out to wet his own lips as Draco took another bite at his muffin.

Harry shook his head and turned away from such an indecent sight. 

“The elves got the chocolate right at least.” Said Draco, taking another muffin.

“You won’t get front row seats if you end up in the infirmary.” Said Harry, as he helped himself to the Halloween punch now that he’d finished his checks.

“Don’t be ridicules Potter – Harry.” Draco spoke between mouthfuls. “I’m not some foolish child that doesn’t know when to stop.”

Harry just hummed in feigned agreement. Watching the students: dancing to rather ominous Halloween music as the charmed lights flickered over them, sitting at round tables eating Halloween themed foods, or standing around chatting on a current sugar high.

Draco never wandered from his side, still eating his way through far too much sugar and chocolate. Then, about half-hour later, Harry noticed the warning signs of fight about to break out across the Hall. He set down his cup and went to deal with it before it escalated.

“What's going on here?” Harry’s voice was loud and firm, staring down at the three squabbling students.

“Nothing Mr Potter sir.” The male student - dressed as a Veela with an eye mask on, quickly spoke before the other two could.

“Mr Oscar Haines correct?” Harry guessed, and the Slytherin first-year nodded.

“It is certainly not nothing! You levitated Mercia’s book into the back of my head!” Harry recognised the boy as Mr Cain Sharrow, a first-year Ravenclaw dressed as … Bertie Bott he assumed, what with the charmed beard, grey suit, and ‘every flavour beans’ as buttons. Cain was pointing angrily at Oscar. 

“It’s true sir!” Miss Mercia Raines added. Harry wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn that she was dressed as Artemesia Lufkin – the first woman to become the Minister for Magic in 1798.

“Did your book survive? Yours or is it library borrowed?” Harry asked.

“It’s my own… and it’s okay I guess.” Mercia answered, though she looked confused.

“Mr Haines?” Harry turned with a questioning glance.

“I did no such thing. I was falsely accused!” Oscar insisted.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Harry sighed. Oscar would insist he had nothing to do with it until he was blue in the face and then some. Harry couldn’t prove it was him, and it to be honest, it wasn’t something he would expect of Mr Oscar Haines.

“It’s Halloween!” Harry decided. “I have Mr Haines saying he had nothing to do with it, and you two insisting he did.” Harry held up his hand to stop Cain butting in. “No mater your argument, I have two sides of the story. We can either debate this all night in my office, or, considering your property Miss Raines, is returned and intact, we can be mature and walk away – enjoying the rest of your day. What will it be?”

After a moment of thought on all sides, the students nodded and decided to let the matter drop. Harry sighed in relief, and made his way back over to the buffet tables. As he glanced up to where he had left Draco, he saw the blond man looking deathly pale. Before he could reach him however, Draco had started his hasty exit from the Great Hall.

Worried that he had ingested poison, Harry quickly took off after him.

* * *

“I would have expected this from one of the students Mr Malfoy…” Madam Pomfrey scolded as she handed Draco another potion, magically vanishing the besmirched sick bowl. “…But certainly not from a member of the faculty. You should be ashamed of yourself! What sort of example is this setting the students?”

Draco looked embarrassed more than ashamed, and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle. Draco glared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Harry defended himself – his hand held up. “I did warn you.”

Something about seeing Draco – a grown man who was almost pouting, defeated by chocolate, was almost adorable – amusing and remarkably innocent. 

“Mr Malfoy will be perfectly fine – I assure you!” Madam Pomfrey sighed in exasperation. “I suggest you get back to the party Mr Potter. At any rate, I don’t think you need to hold his hand.” Madam Pomfrey insisted, glaring at Draco before shooing him from the hospital wing.

Chuckling on way back to the Great Hall, Harry remembered Tau’s lack of resistance to chocolate too. He wondered if it was a pure blood thing, but then he felt a phantom itch – as if he was missing something. His pace slowed as he came closer to the Great Hall doors, realising that Draco and Tau certainly had a few similarities. He’d had this train of thought before he realised – they were both pure bloods, both had a weakness for chocolate, both around the same age, and-

Harry froze when he walked into the Great Hall, it was deadly silent and everyone was crowded around something in the middle. Any thoughts he’d previously been having, rapidly vanished from his mind to be replaced by an ominous feeling.

Pushing through the crowd urgently, Harry gasped when he saw Miss Camellia Nixon – a fifth year Gryffindor, laying on the floor unconscious and looking rather pale. Minerva was forcing the Wiggenweld Potion into her mouth, but it didn’t seem to be working as they had expected.

“Take her to the hospital wing…” Said Harry - firmly, as he bent down beside Headmistress McGonagall. A lump of familiar guilt was twisting in his gut. “I’ll sort everything out here with Professor Flitwick and meet you there.” 

Minerva nodded and levitated Camellia into the air. She thanked him before striding out of the Great Hall. Mr Leonard went to follow her, but Harry quickly used a sticking charm on his feet.

“Stay here Mr Leonard! We need to ask you what happened.” Harry explain to the distraught looking fifth year Gryffindor, un-sticking him from the floor once he’d placed a hand on his shoulder. He shared a quick look at Flitwick, who nodded and climbed up onto one of the small round tables dotted around the room.

“Unfortunately, some of the food or drink may be contaminated I’m afraid -- Poisoned.” Professor – and deputy Head master, Filius Flitwick started. The students looked terrified. “I will arrange for safe food and drink to be sent to your dormitories, and you may continue to honour All Hallows' Eve there if you wish to do so, until midnight. Prefects and/or Head of houses are to escort you all back to your dormitories immediately! You will be informed when we have more news.”

Harry instantly saw fault in Filius plan, and quickly used a milder version of the Sonorous Charm before chaos and confusion broke out in the Hall.

“I suggest…” Harry stared, trying not to blush with all the attention now on him. Quickly climbing up onto the nearest chair. “…That all the Slytherins move to that wall…” Harry pointed, and used a spell to send green sparks in the correct direction. “…That the Gryffindors move to that one…” Pointing again, but with red sparks this time. “…Ravenclaws to the wall where the teachers table would be normally be...” Pointing with blue sparks. “… And the Hufflepuffs will gather in the middle.” Harry finished, showering yellow sparks over the centre of the great Hall. 

Harry swore he had sighs of relief from a some of the student, prefects and teachers as he jumped down from the chair. Filius even muttered, “Yes, good idea Mr Potter, very good, good thinking.” As he climbed down off the table. 

With that said, everyone quickly gathered at their designated section of the Great Hall, and Harry went to question Mr Leonard.

“What happened Reece?” Asked Harry, his hand returning to Reece’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.

“I don’t know Mr Potter.” Said Reece Leonard, who was fidgeting nervously and clearly worried about his friend. “She was drinking from that cup…” He pointed to the orange cup still on the floor, the remains of the liquid splashed over the stone. “…I think she took the wrong cup though, because I remember her putting it down by the brain cake and it’s still there with her lipstick on it.”

Harry looked over to where Reese was pointing, and sure enough there was an orange cup with pink lipstick around the top.

“Then she just - she just - - What’s wrong with her?” He finally demanded.

“I’m not sure.” Harry admitted, gently squeezing his shoulder. “But I’m sure that Madam Pomfrey will have her fixed up in no time. I’ll take you back to Gryffindor tower in a moment, I just need to speak to Professor Flitwick quickly.” 

“I want to go see her!” Mr Leonard insisted.

“Madam Pomfrey will be able to help Camellia better if she’s able to work alone. Trust me, Pomfrey only gets stressed when there are other people around. I’m sure you understand that when your stress you don’t do so well on things.” Harry explained. When Reece nodded begrudgingly, Harry continued. “Good lad. Now wait here a moment.”

With that Harry walked over to Filius, who was giving orders to a few of the other teachers.

* * *

Midnight was rapidly closing in by the time Harry had return to his room, had a shower, and climbed into bed with mug of hot chocolate. He twisted the warm mug in his hands as he thought back over the last several hours.

A healer from St Mungo’s had been called over, and Draco – who had still been in the hospital wing at the time, explained that it was their belief that a more potent version of the draught of living death could have been the culprit. This of course, posed the question of how he knew this – especially when a spell confirmed it to be true. More questions then followed when the Aurors arrived, and it was a giant mess.

Miss Camellia Nixon was quickly taken to St Mungo’s, and thankfully they received news that she would make a full recovery. However, Auror Justin Graves, wanted to examine the Great Hall in painful detail, and brutally pounded them all with questions. How they knew what Camellia had ingested? Why some of the staff had strong Wiggenweld Potions on hand? Why hadn’t they contacted the Auror’s before now – when the possibility of a threat was brought to light? And when they had handed him Mr Silas Avery’s school file – Why wasn’t this student reported to the Aurors beforehand?

Harry remembered how Mr Graves was particularly interested in Mr Avery. If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that the man was shocked at the fact that ex-death eater - Mr Avery senior, had even sired a son. They hadn’t yet spoken with Silas - as far as he was aware, but they’d promised to return once they’d reviewed everything back at the ministry. Harry didn’t know what they could do however, there was still no evidence to implicate Silas. 

Poor Minerva was practically run off her feet: contacting and dealing with Camellia’s parents, trying to update the teachers as the evening progressed, speaking with Madam Pomfrey over the floo regarding Camellia’s health status, having to deal with one intimidating and forceful Mr Graves – who actually didn’t seem to intimidate her all - rather infuriate and annoyed her instead. She also found time to look over her glasses at Draco, who almost squirmed at the stern reproachful look she gave him as he slipped out of the hospital wing like a naughty first year caught out of bed past curfew.

Oh yes, Harry thought with a smirk, he wouldn’t never let that memory of the blond go.

And when Mr graves had finally left, Minerva had to inform the stressful house elves that they could now begin clear up, and had to admit that tomorrows lessons had to be cancelled.

Harry had stuck to her side, helping her at every turn one he’d returned Mr Leonard to the Gryffindor tower. He still felt guilty though. It was rather obvious that someone had spiked his drink while he’d been dealing with the altercation between Oscar, Cain and Mercia. If Draco hadn’t bolted from the Great Hall when he had - to paint the corridor in the lovely shade that is regurgitated chocolate brownies, then he would have finished his drink and the poison would have gone to him instead of an innocent student. He should never have left his cup unattended. Stupid!

He put his mug of half-finished hot chocolate down on his bed side table and sighed, before reaching into his draw for that familiar magical parchment and quill. He wouldn’t expect Tau to respond this late, but writing was much better than letting his guilt twist and fester – he needed the distraction; his mind was trying to dig up old guilt at the lives that had been lost because Voldemort wanted _him_ dead.

Miss Camellia Nixon was going to be just fine, classes were cancelled for tomorrow, and he’d just noticed that Tau had replied to him from earlier. The small smile that graced his lips was instantaneous, as was the warm bubbly feeling inside – dousing out his negative thoughts and feelings. 

** Message from Tau: **

_Morning mon Chéri,_

_My place of work is hosting a Halloween party – that should be rather entertaining.  
I picture you hiding away in a dusty corner of house party somewhere, perhaps eating too many puddings and drinking terribly cheap wine. _

_Did you know that traditionally, All Hallows’ eve is the said to be the most potent time for rituals and spell work? It used to be the day that magical families would come together, to protect their homes with ritual based wards, to bless new family members, and regenerate their magical cores by absorbing the heightened magic of nature while denuded of all apparel. Of course, traditionally, the date wasn’t as fixed as it is today, and was decided on by the changing of seasons, and on the level of magic one could feel._

_Unfortunately, traditions have been replaced by muggle beliefs. It is a shame really. There is something thrilling about baring all to nature and feeling the magic cursing through your veins._

_The Muggles have various views on Halloween. Some are interesting enough, but the main concept is that the dead walk among us on this night, or other ridiculous notions relating to death and evil. It is mainly a load of hogwash._

_Like I said, it is traditionally a most potent time for rituals, hence Necromancy. A lot of wizards that were proficient in the arts of raising the dead, chose All Hallows’ eve to practise their rather creepy talents, and thus the origin to these muggle beliefs. Also, a group of witches and wizards denuding their apparel in woods, forests, and lakes, most certainly birthed a few of the ridiculous stories regarding witches on Halloween. Wizarding apparel back then certainly included robes and pointed hats, but material, design, and expectations have changed dramatically along with knowledge._

 _I bid thee a most prolific and fruitful All Hallows’ eve, mon chéri particulier._  
  
Votre admirateur, Tau x 

** Message End- **

Harry chucked; he was getting lots of history lessons today it seemed and-

He blinked - the phantom itch was back again. What was it he was thinking before he returned to the Great Hall – before everything went downhill?

Blond hair, a weakness for chocolate, pure bloods… NO! No, it couldn’t be – could it?

His mind was racing, trying to think of everything he had learnt about Tau over the last two and half months, and everything he had learnt about Draco since he had started working here. His mind halted however when he remembered Le’Amortentia’s contract: _‘I hereby declare that I will not actively seek nor gather evidence to seek out the identity of my secret Chérie…’_

 _‘What if I 'accidentally' found out though?’_ Harry questioned himself. If was ‘accidental’ then he wouldn’t technically be breaking any rules. Okay, so he _would_ be breaking the rules, but they’d not be able to prove it if it played his cards right.

 _‘There is no way that Draco and Tau are the same guy though!_ ’ Harry’s brain insisted. It was just too unbelievable. Draco was nothing like Tau and-

 _‘Why not? Is it really so impossible that Draco could possess such charm, charisma, and intelligence?’_ His mind argued. Was he really so guilty of judging the book by its cover – of seeing what he expected to see when he looked at Draco? Then again, Tau was an illusion he’d created, he only knew what Tau wrote – his mind supplemented the blanks with fantasy. 

_‘…Will you promise to keep an open mind and not forget all the words we have shared on parchment? Will you remember that I am not my past, that I am not the same person I was back then?’_ \- Tau’s words

Harry had promised, which meant that – if Tau and Draco were one in the same, that he’d promised that to Draco. He still didn’t know for sure if Tau and Draco were one in the same, but there were so many similarities.

He reached into the draw and pulled out the copy of Tau’s Le’Amortentia profile: Thirty years old, five-foot-nine in height, grey eyes, blond hair, pure-blood. 

Harry shivered; it was exactly the same as Draco bloody Malfoy. He was sure Draco was about five-foot-nine too, because Harry was Five-foot-eight and Draco was about an inch taller than him.

He still needed more to go on – there must be hundreds of people with that combination of looks.

 _‘Really Potter, why so in denial?’_ His mind chastised in Draco’s voice. _‘You know that you fancy me. What’s not to love?’_

 _‘Arrogant bastard!’_ His mind muttered - realising with horror, that he was arguing with himself. On top of that, he just remembered that he loved Tau’s amusing arrogance. They were both arrogant!

He almost headbutted the headboard as he threw his head back. Was he really into tall arrogant pure-bloods, with blond hair, grey eyes, that ate too much chocolate, and had disastrous pasts?

Disastrous pasts… Another confirmation that Draco and Tau where one of the same. Oh Merlin! 

He rubbed his eyes and sighed, everything was leading to his suspicions being true, and now his vision of Tau’s image – his illusion, was morphing together with Draco’s to form one man. He needed to find out one way or another – for sure, and he would need to be careful in doing so.


	9. Shattering illusions

Before attempting to get some much-needed sleep, Harry decided what he was going to write back to Tau. He decided to respond as if nothing had changed, and to be fair… nothing may have changed at all– _‘Yeah right!’_ His mind supplemented. _‘You’d be a bloody fool not to accept how likely it is that Tau and Draco are one and the same, and you know it!’_

Shaking his head, Harry wrote his reply.

** Message to Tau: **

_Interesting history lesson I must say, but I can confirm that everyone kept their clothes on here, and unfortunately, there was no naked moonlight venerating._

_I assure you Tau; I did not touch any wine tonight nor indulge in any ‘puddings’ I did however have a rather eventful day. I also attended a Halloween party likewise – the usual: decorations, food and music – not quite the dusty corner at a friends’ house you were thinking of I’m afraid – I do have some social skills you know. All I can say is that I had something to do this morning that brought back a few unhappy memories, and this evening became rather unexpected to say the least, but all is well here._

_Tell me, how was your Halloween party Tau?_

_Your Chéri, Padfoot._

_x_

** Message end- **

He put the parchment away, and spent the next couple of hours tossing and turning in bed before sleep finally came. 

* * *

** Monday, November 1st 2010 **

Harry returned to bed with a mug of hot coffee that morning. He planned to lay in for just a while longer, or at least, enjoy his quiet morning until he had finished his coffee. He had a lot on his mind though; he was thinking about Silas, about Camellia, and about Draco vs Tau.

The mug thudded gently as Harry suddenly placed it onto the bedside table, and he took out the magical parchment and quill from the draw. He was determined to find out if his new revelation regarding Tau and Draco proved to be valid.

Tau had replied.

** Message from Tau: **

_Morning mon Chéri,_

_You inspire such_ _risqué images of yourself Padfoot, but I’m sure such exposed moon basking could become quite a pain in the arse. You really shouldn’t be so modest. Heightened magical awareness isn’t the only the thing that has the prospect to grow you know._

_Now that we have established that you are a rather demure and humbled man, I won’t disclose the details of my morning trek with you._

_The Halloween party didn’t quite go according to plan I’m afraid. I made an error with the chocolate and suffice to say, the night ended rather abruptly._

_In order to appreciate one’s happiness, one must experience bad memories.  
Remember Tau – everything we feel, say or do, is an expression of the mind._

_Votre admirateur, Tau x_

** Message end- **

Harry’s heart was thudding precariously in his chest, his feelings clashing between embarrassment, humour, disbelief, and shock.

For one thing, he was even more certain that Tau was in fact, Draco. The ‘error’ Tau claimed to have made with the chocolate, sounded like he had brought the wrong kind, made an error with the baking, or something to that degree, but Harry was almost certain that the so called ‘error’ had been in consuming to much. 

Harry wanted to laugh – the cheeky bastard was practically lying by omission, and he was cleverly leading him to make false assumptions to protect his own dignity, but the realisation of who Tau was likely to be… well, it was overwhelmingly confusing and ringing in his mind like warning sirens.

_I don’t know if I could ever grow to –– love, Draco Malfoy.   
How would this change my feelings regarding Tau though?_

It was a bloody mess! He needed time to come to terms with this revelation before he could answer his own questions. He also needed a little more proof that Draco was the one writing to him – not his beautiful illusion of Tau, before he fully gave into this new fact and let his illusion crumble completely.

He gulped down the last of his coffee, staring disappointedly down at his empty cup. “Kreacher!” He called.

“Good morning Master Potter Sir…” The old house elf bowed as he appeared with a ‘pop’. “How may Kreacher be a serving you this morning?”

“Coffee please Kreacher – _strong_ coffee. Could you also bring me some toast? I don’t think I will be attending breakfast this morning.” He requested, wondering if he could even stomach toast right now. 

“Of course, Master Potter.” Kreacher bowed and vanished, leaving Harry to re-read his message from Tau – from Draco?

Despite his shock at everything he’d learnt, he blushed again when reading the obvious innuendo of anal intercourse outside in nature, and the accusation that he was ‘demure and humble’ because he preferred to keep his clothes on when outside. He also didn’t want to think about Tau’s – possibly Draco’s - ‘morning trek’, especially not when naked moonlight basking was their last topic of conversation – well, that and absorbing magic from nature while denude of all apparel.

Harry shook his head, trying to rid himself of the salacious images his mind was now conjuring – of Draco naked and luring him into the woods for carnal activities. He groaned and shifted on the bed – he would need a cold shower at this rate. Damn Draco for having such an attractive figure!

Harry forced his eyes to focus on the last part of the message – the part where Draco… where _Tau_ , gives his wisdom. Tau was obviously offering his sympathy to his mention of bad memories - in the only way Tau knew how. Neither of them were great when it came to offering sympathy, and Harry was grateful that Tau had even mentioned it. He was right though, the memories of his parents’ death had taught him to value the people who were alive; in order to appreciate the good, he had to experience the bad.

His new coffee, along with the buttered toast - and jam should he want some, appeared next to him on his bedside table. He sipped at the hot, strong liquid and started his reply.

** Message to Tau: **

_I would rather not think of those risqué images, thank you very much Tau. My aversions to displays of nudity have nothing to do with modesty, I just prefer to conform to social standards._

_Error Tau?_

_Knowing you, you gave into temptation and consumed too much of that chocolatey goodness you love so much. Should I fear your not-eating chocolate streak?_

_Padfoot x_

** Message end- **

It was a short reply, but Harry wondered if was too obvious. No! He decided, Tau had admitted his weakness for chocolate many times, so that was something he would normally reply… right?

Biting his lip, he made up his mind. He drew the Mannaz rune and watched his words vanish as they sent themselves to Tau… possibly to Draco.

What would he do if it _was_ Draco? Would it really be so bad?

He pondered his own questions as he took a bite out of his toast – deciding to forgo the jam. He washed each bit down with a sip of coffee, remembering the flurry of exchange words between him and Tau, and the way he had wanted to kiss Draco after their fire-whisky evening together. 

Yes, Draco was gorgeous in his aristocratic, pompous, pure-blooded way … but he was, gorgeous that is. The sexual attraction was there, but he had so much history with the blond. The question was – would that history impede on any relationship that might start between them?

He liked Draco – he really did, but the man was closed off and mercurial at best. Maybe that’s way he never saw Tau in Draco before now – if indeed he was correct in that assumption. Could Draco be expressing his true personality through Tau – the safety of the parchment providing a comfort net and making it possible for Draco to be himself, or was Tau Draco’s alter personality – a personality that Draco has created to project the person he wishes he was, or something to that degree? 

Harry almost jumped when words appeared on the parchment before him, nearly making him splatter up his coffee. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t expected Tau to reply so soon. 

** Message from Tau: **

_In order to enjoy the more pleasant activities of life, one must bare all.  
Your aversions to nudity are rather endearing Padfoot, I must say. You claim that your modesty is not in question, and yet you shy away from such conversation. One may think you naive and innocent – mon chéri particulier. _

_Okay I’ll admit it. I ate too much chocolate.  
Are you happy now Padfoot? Humiliating me as punishment for disclosing my most secret desires.   
You are an evil man! _

** Message end- **

So, Tau _did_ eat too much chocolate – just like Draco did!

He wasn’t satisfied though; he wanted more proof before he had to let go of his illusion of Tau. He’d said it before, but Tau was intoxicating and charismatic and wonderful, and he didn’t want to give that up. It felt like he was suddenly grieving for a man he’d never met, that reality was now knocking and he had no choice but to let Tau go.

But… did he really have too? If Tau _was_ Draco, then Draco was very real! If Tau _was_ Draco’s true self, then he just had to accept everything that was Draco – the history between them, Draco’s past, Draco’s walls and insecurities, and… Oh Merlin! He had so much to figure out.

Harry ran his hands through his thick black hair, rubbed his eyes and sighed loudly. 

There were two things he wanted to know above all else; Was Tau, without a shadow of a doubt, Draco Malfoy? And, what was Draco’s true personality? 

* * *

Harry knocked on the door to Draco’s personal rooms, shifted on his feet nervously and tried to control his nerves as he rocked on the balls of his feet.

“Potter?” Draco’s voice suddenly caught his attention and he froze. He hadn’t even realised that Draco had opened the door.

“I erm… I just…” Harry berated himself, taking a deep breath and relaxed – determined not to make a complete fool of himself. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay after yesterday.” Harry smiled up at Draco, more aware of the man’s features then he was before.

His guilt at finding Draco attractive was dissipating the more evidence came to light that he was in fact, Tau. At least he wouldn’t have to choose between them if he did develop feelings for Draco, and standing here before the man once again, he was reminded of the fact that it was actually a possibility. His feelings for Draco had always sat precariously on an edge – rocking between friendship, enemies, and something else entirely. 

Draco opened his door a bit more, frowning slightly down at him. “You’re concern about my health Potter –– Harry?” He sounded surprised almost, like Harry checking to make sure he was alright was unbelievable.

“Mmm” Harry nodded. “I need to go and speak with Minerva this morning, but I wondered if you fancied getting a drink in the Three Broomsticks after lunch?” 

If Harry’s nervousness was noticeable, Draco didn’t comment on it. Harry’s heart was trying to come out of his throat, and his hands were slightly sweaty.

“Why not. I need to make a stop at Ceridwen's Cauldrons anyway.” Draco agreed. “Miss Briana Payne has exploded more cauldron’s already then Longbottom did during his entire school, and Mrs Allaway promised to order in some potion ingredients for me.” Draco explained, and Harry wondered if he was using his need to visit Hogsmeade to avoid the truth – that yes, he would very much enjoy having a drink in Harry’s company.

It was something Tau would do. Tau had a fear of rejection, of making a fool of himself, something that Harry was going to find out if Draco mirrored.

“I didn’t know that Ceridwen’s sold potion ingredients?” Harry asked.

“They don’t normally, no.” Draco replied. “However, Mrs Allaway will order in what you require should you ask. She has been helping to supply Hogwarts with ingredients for years, even has a tab open with the school for such ingredients, cauldrons, and other potion making utensils. Most ingredients come from the green houses anyway, but there are some we don’t grow or that end up low in stock.”

“Huh! I guess I never thought about it. So, you only agreed to get a drink with me because you had to visit Ceridwen’s?” Harry asked, a sense of feigned disappointment on his features.

Draco frowned. He seemed to be taken-back by that question. After a moment he said, “Not at all Potter, the offer of a free drink was simply too good to pass up.”

Harry gaped. “I never-”

“You invited me to get a drink, it is only customary for the one that makes the offer to pay the bill.” Draco smirked. “It is too late to revoke your offer now Potter, so I will see you at lunch.” With that, Draco nodded and closed his door. 

Harry scoffed. Trust Draco! But Harry had his answer; Draco wanted to get a drink with him – or he wouldn’t have claimed that Harry’s offer couldn’t be withdrawn.

Yes, Draco _did_ mirror that trait with Tau. His illusion was shattering into a million pieces, but if Tau really was Draco, and if there was a chance… he had to try. 

* * *

“Come again soon Mr Malfoy, it’s always a pleasure to see you dear.” Mrs Allaway waved as they left Ceridwen's Cauldrons, the cauldrons and ingredients shrunk down into one small paper bag.

Harry was rather surprised at the way Draco had been received by Mrs Allaway. The greying older lady smiled at him, pottering about quickly to make sure he had everything he needed, and she even patted his shoulder before they’d left. It was nice to know that Draco had friendly acquaintances.

“She seemed nice.” Said Harry, as they made their way to the Three Broomsticks.

“Yes. She is polite to all her customers, how else would she run a profitable business.”

Harry didn’t miss the - ‘she wouldn’t be so friendly to me otherwise’ that was left unsaid. Harry felt sorry for Draco - that he still held such insecurities, but he knew it would be ill received if he expressed it. Harry himself, used to be guilty of seeing only one side to Draco - the side he wanted to see or expected to see, but not anymore. In fact, he hadn’t been so blind since their first coffee together. 

“I’m sure you have some likeable qualities Draco, or else, I must be mad to enjoy your company.” Said Harry, bravely daring to step into what could be dangerous ground with Draco. Harry knew the blond wouldn’t accept pity, but he had no idea how he would react to his backhanded compliment.

Draco froze, his steps halted, and he turned to gauge Harry’s words. He was looking at Harry curiously before his mask returned and he said, “I always said you were mad Potter –– Harry.” Then Draco continued to walk.

Harry smiled, relieved that Draco hadn’t shouted at him, but where was Draco’s sense of self-admiration or sarcastic retorts? He’d agreed with Harry that he had likable qualities – or else he would have denied his comment, but was it about Draco’s opportunity to playfully insult him, or was it insecurity that prevented the blond from being arrogant and confident about his self-worth. Harry would have expected Draco to pick apart his ‘some’ and insist he had more them _some_ likable qualities. 

Harry’s thoughts were interrupted however, when Draco’s steps halted in the doorway of the Three Broomstick pub, just as they were entering – Draco’s hand was still on the open door and Harry almost walked into the back of him.

“What’s wrong?” Asked Harry, frowning at the abnormal pale complexion Draco was suddenly sporting. He looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“I don’t think this is such a good idea.” Said Draco, and he quickly slid past Harry to leave. Harry however grabbed Draco’s arm no more than three steps away from the pub.

“At least tell me why. Maybe we can go someplace else?” Harry’s mind was working overtime to try and figure out what had spooked Draco, but nothing was coming to mind – or at least, nothing was coming to mind quickly enough.

“I’m no longer in the mood Potter!” Draco snapped, snatching his arm back and striding hastily away towards Hogwarts.

“Draco!” Harry shouted. He was about to follow the blood when he was accosted by a bloody news reporter.

“Mr Potter! What brings you to Hogsmeade today? Can you tell me about your current association to ex Death Eater Draco Malfoy?” The lanky brown-hair reporter looked at him expectedly.

“Move aside please. I am in a hurry.” Harry tried, but the damn reported blocked his escape.

“Does this have anything thing to do with the Death Eater in question?” The man insisted.

Harry knew that the next big story was a reporter’s means to put food on their table, and to provide for their family - it was a race to be the first in gaining such news worth information or risk losing their job, but Harry refused to allow this man to use Draco’s past as wages.

“Listen to me very carefully!” Harry glared at the reporter, using a voice he saved for the most trying of students, but he let his anger show clearly on his face this time. “You will move out of my way or I will not refrain from making you.” He now had his wand pointed at the reporter, and was glad to see the man swallow in uncertainty. “Move! Or I will make sure you never write news again.”

If this reporter knew anything about him, it should be the knowledge that he’d managed to get three reporters fired – one of them being Miss Rita Skeeter herself. It made big news when Rita lost her credibility, and if this man was at least half decent at his job then he would know this.

The reported finally stepped aside looking defeated, and Harry wasted no time running after Draco.

Harry felt bad for threatening the reporter, but he should be aware of the outstanding agreement Harry has with news reporting agencies; Harry will only talk to them if they made an appointment, and he refused to answer questions when accosted in the street. In fact, the agreement states that they would lose the right to print anything about him should one of their employees forcefully question him in the streets for example, and if that right was revoked and they still ran a story about him, they would be sued.

Harry didn’t have time to think about that reporter anymore, he’d finally caught up to the blond. 

“Draco?” He breathlessly asked, matching Draco’s strides as he walked beside him again. 

“Piss off Potter!” Draco spat. “Wouldn’t want to be associated with a Death Eater now would you, I might taint your golden boy reputation.”

“Draco stop it! You’re not a Death Eater, and I said nothing to that bloody reporter back there.” Harry snapped.

“You don’t need to say anything Potter!” Draco continued to rage. “By association with you my name will be in tomorrow’s fucking paper. It will be filled with accusations and now everyone will know that Death Eater Draco fucking Malfoy in back in UK.”

“No, they won’t!” Harry shouted. “If that’s what you’re so worried about, then let me tell you this – I have a contract with every bloody new reporting agency and the UK, they can’t publish anything about me unless I have agreed to an interview. And you’re not a Death Eater!”

Draco stopped walking to scowl at Harry, he seemed to be mulling over what he’d just said, but then Draco growled and stropped off again. Harry sighed and followed him.

He was use to Ron’s temper – so he could deal with anger, but Draco’s attitude changed as they were about to enter the Three Broomsticks. Draco was bothered by something, and instead of admitting it, he was getting defensive and frustrated and taking it out on him. 

“I know this isn’t about that fucking reporter.” Harry continued. “Something at the Three Broomsticks started this. Whilst I’d like to know what that is, I’d rather you snapped out of it and joined me for a whisky or something! You can tell me or not what has you in such a foul mood, but I won’t be scared off so easily.” 

Draco turned then, shoving Harry’s chest and shouting, “You think you know everything Potter? Think you have it all figured out.” Draco ripped up his sleeve to reveal the fading Dark Mark still tainting his perfect skin. “You say I’m not a Death Eater, but this reminds me every fucking day that I am! Are you blind, or will you still insist that you know better!”

Harry could hear the pain in Draco’s voice - the hope that Harry right but the inability to believe him. It made Harry even more determined to make Draco see what Harry now could.

“You were forced to take that mark Draco! Tom placed it on people for two reasons; as a sign of their sick and twisted loyalty to him, or too remind them - through fear, that they belong to him. If I suddenly marked you, forced you through fear and threats to set fire to the school, it doesn’t make you an arsonist! You never wanted this, and it’s your choices that make you a Death Eater or not, not some fucked up tattoo. Don’t you understand that?” 

Shockingly, Draco looked like he was struggling to not burst out into painful sobs. Harry saw him wobble, frozen in place in fear of crumbling before his ex-rival, and then he muttered through clenched teeth, “I made bad choices.”

“And you’re not the only good person to do so.” Harry sighed, hoping that Draco finally understood. “Draco, we’ve all got both light and dark inside of us. What matters is the part we choose to act on in the end. You chose not to commit murder, you chose to protect your family – your mother, you chose to stay brave in the darkest of places, and you chose give me time to flee when you didn’t disclose my identity. Your situation was impossible, the choices you made were for good reasons, and you were a teenager!”

“That’s no excuse!” Draco shouted, his eyes polling with unshed tears. “I should have- I should have-”

Draco didn’t finish his sentence; he was hightailing it through the Hogwarts gates and away from him. Harry knew that feeling - of not wanting anyone to see you breaking down, for being seen as weak. He knew the feeling of denying the truth because it hurt – just like Harry denied the fact he’d been abused by his Aunt and Uncle. He didn’t want to humiliate Draco, but he wanted to man to know that he wouldn’t judge him – not for this, and not for being forced to take the Dark Mark.

Harry caught up to Draco once again – and before the man even had a chance to enter the castle, Harry had used wandless magic on the doors so that Draco couldn’t open them. Draco spun around when they wouldn’t open, and the rage was so obvious in his tear stain face as he glared murderously at Harry.

“What the fuck do you want Potter? Come to take the piss, have you?” Draco screamed, suddenly brandishing his wand and firing the knockback jinx at him.

Harry wandlessly used the shield charm on instinct, and that only seemed to add to Draco’s anger. Draco pounded Harry with jinxes, hexes, or spells, and each time Harry skillfully deflected or shielded against it with his wand, all the while moving closer to Draco until he was standing in front of the broken man.

Harry’s hand lay gently over Draco’s wand, slowly pushing it down until Draco finally slouched and started sobbing.

Harry pulled Draco to his chest, allowing himself to be used as support so the man didn’t fall to the ground in a sobbing mess. He knew that this was point of shame for Draco - to allow himself to be seen this way, but he also knew that it was necessary.

Harry wondered if Draco had ever been able to bare himself so openly to another before – or to allow himself to let go so emotionally, but he was glad that Draco was finally releasing some of that pent-up emotion. The masks Draco hid behind were preventing him from letting go of the past, and they were preventing him from forming relationship with other people – be that platonic or otherwise.

“Come with me.” Harry gently ordered when the sobbing continued. “You don’t want to be seen like this; I know I wouldn’t.”

Draco hesitated before nodding - he looked so beaten, so exhausted, and Harry knew that this moment of total surrender wouldn’t last, but It would only take one student or teacher to exit the school in search of fresh air, and they would be spotted – this important moment of healing for Draco would then be over. In fact, it was a miracle they hadn’t already been seen.

Harry wanted to help Draco before he had a chance to snap on any more masks, and before Draco’s pain ebbed enough to bring him back to his senses.

Draco just followed Harry with tears streaming down his face, broken sobs rocking his chest, and the pain of over ten years’ suppressed emotions and every ounce of guilt he carried drowning him. Draco had giving up right now, and was at Harry’s mercy. They walked to just beyond Hogwarts gates, and then Harry pulled Draco to his chest and disapparated them both away. 


	10. Curative company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up my dear readers - this chapter is 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙮 long.  
> I had a hard time with this one, but I hope you enjoy it.  
> I would really appreciate it if you would let me know what you think in the comments.  
> ♥♥♥

Once the unpleasant and disconcerting sensations of apparition had passed, and their feet had firmly reconnected with solid ground, Harry felt Draco’s warm body abruptly leave his hold. The man looked confused – possibly angry, as he surveyed his new surroundings through tear blurred eyes. 

“Where the fuck have you taken me Potter?” Draco snapped, but the hoarse and croaked words lacked the normal bite that Draco would have imployed, had his emotions not been dug up so forcefully. He wiped his puffy red eyes on the back of his hand, angry and humiliated, and sniffled loudly. 

“My place.” Harry gestured, half-heartedly, at his living room in Grimmauld Place: Low white panelling sat below the towering Aegean-blue walls; the double armed Victorian wall sconces, gave light where the floor to ceiling windows – dressed with dark azure curtains, failed; the three dark-blue chesterfield sofa’s – with various pillows and throws, sat a-top the Moroccan trellis carpet, in front of a stunning white marbled fireplace. “You can’t disapparate within Hogwarts grounds…” Harry continued. “…Or I’d have taken you back to your private chambers, and I didn’t think you’d want the students gossiping either.”

“Bet you love this Potter.” Draco sniffled loudly, trying to pull himself together quickly.

Harry could almost hear Draco chanting – _‘A Malfoy must remain poised and in control at all times. A Malfoy must never be weak.’_ But the real voice that broke through his thoughts was still angry and snipping at him.

“Do you get off on playing the bloody hero and-”

“Enough!” Harry shouted, knowing Draco’s reaction only too well – having personally reacted the same way many times in the past; Draco was angry and humiliated, and snapping insults because it was better to be angry and hated then to face painful emotions. “Of course I don’t bloody enjoy this! I’m trying to help. The last time I checked Draco, that’s what friends do.”

“I’m touched by your solicitude Potter. If your idea of friendship is kidnapping, then I think you need your head examined.” Draco practically screamed.

It was obvious that the unexpected apparition had snapped Draco from his temporary state of defeat, but the failed attempts the blond made to reel in his tears and pull himself together, belied his anger. Harry could see beyond that angry façade, beyond the new mask Draco was now wearing, and he saw self-hatred, pain, grief, and hatred at an unfair world. 

“I figured you wouldn’t want anyone to see – to see you like that. That you _might_ have appreciated someone to talk to that would understand!”

“You understand _nothing_ Potter. You’ve never done anything wrong in your life. You weren’t there. You weren’t- You didn’t see what HE did, what he made ME do! You have no idea what it’s like-” 

“No.” Harry’s voice started sombre - his eyes cold as he stared into shocked grey ones, but it grew louder and angrier the more words spilled from his lips. “No of course not Draco, because I didn’t carry a part of him, of _his_ soul in my fucking head for nearly seventeen years. I didn’t wake up puking my guts out every time I watched _him_ murder or torture someone through _his_ eyes, and I didn’t watch him kill my mother over and over again in my dreams because of them fucking Dementors! No of course not Draco, of course I have no fucking idea!”

“H-his soul?” Draco’s voice trembled; his eyes wide as his thoughts whirled.

Harry realise he’d said to much – ‘ _Fuck’_. At least Draco was no longer shouting though, not now the tables were turning onto him instead.

He sighed and walked to the other end of the living room - over to what looked like a massive golden snitch stuck trying to pass through a tall wooden table. Harry opened the top half of the golden ball, revealing a drinking cabinet with glasses. As Harry was helping himself to a glass of Glenglassaugh Octaves single malt Scotch whiskey, Draco found his voice.

“You – you died – you – you said he cursed your soul. That the cure was to die by his hand, to sever a bond that affixed his life to yours… You – you lied, didn’t you?” 

Harry downed the shot of amber liquid and played with the empty glass as he turned to face Draco. He sighed. “I lied by omission. I told only enough that would make sense, yet would keep the world safe.” 

“That…” Another loud sniff from Draco before he continued. “That has nothing to do with carrying a part of his soul in your head, or being able to see through his eyes!”

Harry poured out another glass of whisky – of liquid courage as he had dubbed it, and as he poured another one for Draco’s sake, he decided that in order to gain Draco’s trust and encourage him to open up, maybe he could be honest about the soul fragments Tom Riddle had stashed away. If nothing else, it might prove that he did in fact, understand enough.

He shoved a glass of whiskey into Draco chest – forcing the man to take it, as he passed him on the way back to the dark-blue chesterfield sofas. He all but collapsed into the one on the right, tiredly. He sighed and ran a hand down his face, replaced his glasses, and then looked up at the blond again.

“This doesn’t leave the house!” Harry stressed, taking a sip of liquid courage. “What I have to say is classified – _Ministry_ level classified. I need your word Draco, that what I’ve said and what I’m going to say doesn’t leave this house. I’ll need you take the oath of silence.” 

Draco sat on the opposite couch, obviously in agreement to the oath. Harry almost scoffed – Draco’s curious nature was something alright; the guy could be so easily baited with a bit of gossip or the most hush-hush of secrets. Somehow the suspense of what Harry was about to say had sobered Draco from his own frustration and pain – well, enabled him to bury it again, and Harry strongly suspected it also had to do with the fact that the attention was no longer on the blond, but on him instead.

Draco nodded, taking an eager swig from his glass of whisky, but he looked a right mess. Despite the burning curiosity that now blazed in those coin-grey eyes of his, and the expectation that he – Harry, would now disclose deep dark secrets, Draco’s eyes were red; tear streaks marred his perfect pale skin where he refused to use his clothes to wipe his face, and loud sniffs broke the silence every few second.

“The bathroom is just outside to the right.” Harry pointed. “The towels are clean. I’ll initiate the oath of silence and explain everything once you’ve fixed yourself up a bit.” When Draco went to argue, Harry held up his hand and added. “I refuse to talk to someone with snot all over their face!” His lips curled into a slight smirk.

“I do not have snot Potter!” Draco sniffed rather loudly.

“Could have fooled me.” Harry chuckled.

“Shut it, Potter.” Draco grumbled, but he still jumped at the chance to protect and recover his perfect appearance.

Harry smiled bitter-sweetly as Draco left the room - with the whiskey still in his hand too. Whether or not Draco realised it, he’d managed to calm the blond down and get him to stay for a drink. It felt good – being able to help in some way, but Harry now had to share some of his own demons. Perhaps he should take advantage of his more Slytherin qualities…

He still had to flush out the truth – had to be sure that Draco and Tau were one and the same, but he wouldn’t ask outright. He would need time first – lots of time, before he could confront Draco with that truth. No, right now, he’d rather help Draco. If he could gather proof in the meantime, that would be great, but it could ultimately wait a day or two. 

Harry summoned a muggle notebook and pen, and began writing down the oath of silence. He’d finished before Draco returned, but sat there patiently waiting – thinking about Horcruxes and souls, things he’d hoped never to explain nor think about again. 

Draco didn’t return for a good ten minutes, and Harry was just pouring another glass of liquid courage when the man walked into the room. Draco put his empty glass down on the coffee table expectantly, which Harry happily re-filled.

Harry then placed his hand over the upside down - still opened notebook. “If I show you the words to the oath, and you do you not take the oath… I will need to obliviate you.” Harry’s voice was firm and deadly serious.

Draco gulped down a mouthful of whisky, obviously weighing up his options, but in the end he nodded. “Show us then Potter.”

Harry turned the notebook over and waited for Draco to agree or disagree to the oath. But Draco took out his wand and nodded. 

Harry only hesitated for a second, before taking out his own wand. “I Harry James Potter, son of James Fleamont Potter and Lilly May Potter nee Evens, call upon the oath of silence to protect the world from knowledge that may harm it and the natural order of life. Absie linguamea aeternum.”

“I Draco Lucius Malfoy, son of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy and Narcissa Druella Malfoy nee Black, herby agree to the oath, and will never again speak of Horcruxes nor the magic and process involved – except to those that already have this knowledge and bare no ill intent. Absie linguamea aeternum, et ita fieri.”

Blue light travelled from Draco’s wand to his throat, glowed, and then vanished as the spell took effect. Draco, literally could not even mutter the word Horcrux to another person now, even if he wanted to. The intention of the silencing oath would also prevent _any_ method of communication – and not just speech: writing, sigh language, and Legilimency for example. 

“This isn’t something I share lightly Draco. Apart from Kingsley, only Ron and Hermione have this knowledge. It’s fucking difficult to share too – it’s a pivoting factor to my worst nightmares. I don’t talk about them, not even to Ron or Hermione.”

“I understand Potter –- Harry.” Draco nodded, and he seemed sincere. The prat probably liked to know everything though. He’d be like that kid with the secret, ever growing stash of candy - even if he had no intention of ever sharing it or eating it. Yes, Draco probably had some degree of hunger for knowledge. 

Harry decided to try his luck first – it couldn’t hurt to ask, and he was probably stalling too if his was honest. “Once I’ve told you - explained everything about the Horcruxes dear old Tom made, I’d like you to tell me what happened today at the Three Broomsticks. I think I may have some idea, but I want to hear it from you.”

Draco glared daggers at him, so Harry continued. “Listen, whatever happened, it hit you hard enough to send you running. It obviously brough back bad memories. I’ll share some of my demons with you regardless, but as your friend, I’d like to understand a bit better.”

Draco huffed, downed the last of his liquid courage in one, and then helped himself to another – filling up his glass with rich amber whisky. “Fine! Bloody manipulative bastard. Once you have finishing explaining what you meant about his soul being in your head, I’ll tell you some of the finer details to my _illustrious_ past.”

Harry nodded, hoping that Draco would trust him enough after this to share his own burdens. Right now, however, he had to decide where to start. “Have you ever heard of a Horcrux?” Harry asked, raising the glass to his lips to steady his nerves.

Draco shook his head, frowning as he searched his memories. “If I have, I don’t recall anything.”

“No one was supposed to know anything about them, the ministry had destroyed all books on the subject. Tom learnt of them when he was at school, through Slughorn of all people.”

“Professor Slughorn?” Draco interrupted.

“Yeah.” Harry nodded. “But he didn’t know what Tom wanted with that information, and he meant no ill intent, even warning Riddle how dark they were. He was horrified when Riddle asked the possibility of making seven.”

“How do you – what is a…”

“A Horcrux is the name given to an object in which a person has concealed part of their soul. Tom would – he would murder someone, use some sort of spell that even I don’t know – nor do I ever want to, and then a part of his soul would split off it into an object of his choice, becoming a Horcrux. He did this six times before his downfall. Well, five times -- the sixth time was an accident on his behalf.” Harry had to pause and use the slight burn of the whisky to distract his thoughts - if only for a few seconds, before continuing.

“The sixth vessel held a part of his soul, yes, but he never intended for it happen, nor did he get the chance to say the spell and make it a true Horcrux because his body was destroyed. That’s why he could never die and stay dead the evil bastard, because -- because a part of his soul always remained earthbound and undamaged. When he –- when he came back in 1995, at the end of – the end of – erm -- fourth year –- he -- he made another one by killing-”

Harry’s eyes throbbed as he tried to squeeze back the visuals of distorted dreams and memories. They were like a thick fog, sneaking into every crack and crevice until he couldn’t see anything else…

A scared, tortured woman defiled and dangled above a table – bright green light blinded him – a snake consuming her lifeless body – the snap of bone - a splatter of blood, and the violating feelings of joy and achievement at ending her worthless life.

Harry screamed. “No No NO! Get out of my head you sick fuck!”

He stood up abruptly, forgetting his company, and ran to the bathroom mirror. He had to see his reflection, had to know it was still him inside his own body. He had to _see!_ See anything but the images in his mind. He knew the feelings had never been his own – had only ever been that sick bastards… but his body had been violated; He’d seen through _His_ eyes back then; felt _His_ feelings and expressed them through his own body.

A woman – defiled – green - snap of bone – blood – joy. It had been a broken link back then – blurry, and he hadn’t known at the time that it was the muggle studies teacher – Professor Burbage. But… he knew now, and he knew that her death had given birth to the seventh Horcrux – Nagini. The sick loop of that memory made his stomach lurch.

He retched into the toilet bowl. Whisky burnt fifty time hotter – like acid, when it was coming back up. He cursed himself for panicking that he was still a Horcrux. Tom, Voldemort… he was gone! No one was in his fucking head! No one!

He retched again when he heard his mother pleas and screams – the vile taste it left behind made him gag, and when green filed his vision, so did the battle of Hogwarts: Hexes – curses – screams – blood – death…

“Harry!”

Harry sobbed. ‘ _Oh Merlin! They were calling for him to help. He couldn’t help, couldn’t save them, couldn’t save’-_

“Harry! Its okay.”

Harry felt a hand … a real hand, touching his shoulder. In his delirious state and frantic climb to stay above the flood of images, all he knew what that It was real, solid, and he clung to whoever that hand belonged to. His panicked thoughts chanting _‘Help me!’_ as he clung to the only living thing that could. 

Draco held Harry, shocked to witness the raven-haired man sobbing and shattered on the bathroom floor. Harry didn’t break down! Harry was strong! But right now, Harry was sobbing on his shoulder and holding onto him so tightly that it hurt.

“Potter! Come on Harry, calm down. Let me help you to the couch at least.” Draco coaxed, but Harry was a dead weight. He wouldn’t move, and he was gasping for breath. 

Draco managed to get to his wand, and he cast a few cleaning charms to clear up the sick. The smell was going to make him gag at any rate, but Harry would hopefully appreciate it at the very least – at least he might, when he’d calmed down, but Draco had no idea how to help him do that. 

“My – My…” Harry tried to speak, pointing up at the bathroom cabinet. The visions where fading, but his breathing was so erratic that vertigo was settling in dangerously. The pain threatened to undo years of therapy, and he was humiliated to be caught in this state by anyone let alone Draco Malfoy.

Luckily Draco had received his message, and he could just make out the blond frantically searching the bathroom cabinet for clues as to what it was he needed.

“P-Po -Potion.” Harry rasped, fighting to focus on Draco instead of his nightmares – listening to him list of the potions.

“Pain relief? Dream sleep? Pepper up? Anti-Hiccup? Calming D-?”

Harry managed to make a loud noise of confirmation.

“Calming draught.” Draco confirmed before rushing back to him. “It won’t be as affective with the whisky you know.”

Harry tried to nod, but the spinning room threatened to make him vomit again. He tried to grab the potion vile, but he was too off balance and his hand grasped at air. Still gasping for breath, he felt a hand gently tip his head back so he could take the potion that Draco was now pouring into his mouth.

As the Calming Draught started to work, Harry felt burned red with embarrassment and shame. He shakily stood up, glanced at himself in the mirror, and left the bathroom.

Merlin, he needed a seriously strong mug of coffee!

* * *

“I’m okay Draco, really!” Harry repeated for the third time. He really didn’t want to discuss his mental instabilities. “I told you, it was just a bad flash back – a PTSD episode maybe. I haven’t had one in years, but this is why I try not to talk about past events.” Harry toyed with his mug, looking at the reflections on the porcelain surface. His episode had past, he just wanted to pretend it never happen really. 

“Harry… that was – I mean – You ought to speak with a professional.” Draco said, but at least he had the decency to seem nervous – like he was worried his words would be ill received or unwelcome.

“I used to.” Harry admitted. “They helped me as much as they could. I was discharged. Unless I get worse or something new happens, there’s nothing more they can do for me anymore.”

“Fuck me Potter. I’d be a wreck right now. How are you so nonchalant about this?”

Harry gave a short dry chuckle. “Askes the master of masks.” Harry shook his head. “I’m not, Draco. Its just… I was that half-cocked sixth Horcrux _he_ never intended to make. I lived with a piece of him in my head for sixteen years, and he even possessed me at the end of fifth year. That was _real_ – what I saw through his eyes, what he saw through mine, and having to feel that bastard’s emotions when he was angry or-” Harry shivered, and took a deep breath. “My visons, flashes, or whatever they are… they’re not real – they’re not _him_. I suppose, it’s the fact that I know they’re something my _own_ mind creates in its pain, that gives me the strength to ‘wake up’ and deal with it the best I can. The calming draughts help - stop me from passing out at the very least, and they help me to focus on reality. I dunno. I’ve always been good at ignoring pain, fighting anything that wants to take control of me, but… I guess… well, you being here helps too.” He gave Draco a small smile.

“Merlin’s bollocks, Harry. You were a Horcrux?” Draco shuddered, and Harry nodded sadly at him. “Fuck! I’m assuming that’s why you walked to your death like a bloody Gryffindor. So, what, you died and traded Tom’s soul piece for your own or something?” Draco asked with bewildered aghast.

“Something like that.” Harry nodded.

Harry stared at his coffee mug, remembering the bright white nine-and three-quarters, where he’d spoken with Dumbledore and seen that horrible form of Tom, where he’d assumed death had come for him. The most vivid part of that memory however, was that of Tom’s tiny, shrivelled, emaciated body.

Tom Riddle, was once just a young orphaned boy. To think that any child could grow up to become what Riddle did… it was unbelievable and horrifying. Ever since his sixth year – since he’d see that memories of young Tom at the orphanage, he wondered what Tom would have been like had he been adopted by loving parents – witch and wizard parents. Was he tainted because he was conceived via a love potion? Was he angry at the world for leaving him to the mercies of an orphanage? Would he have always turned out the same? 

“What happened?” Draco voice startled him. “You know, prior to your mad dash to the bathroom? What did you remember?” Draco was still frowning at him, concerned or worried for him maybe.

“What happened in Hogsmeade?” Harry tossed back.

“I asked first!” Draco glared over his coffee mug.

“Actually, you prat,” Harry chuckled. “…I did! Right before that dumb reporter tried his luck. Remember?” 

Draco sighed and continued to sip his coffee. Harry didn’t think he was going to say anything about his own trip down horror lane, but when he did, Draco’s voice was distant and pained deeply - as if eroded into his very being.

“I saw Madam Rosmerta.” Draco paused, staring at his mug – much like the way Harry kept doing.

Harry had eventually figured that much out – Draco’s involvement with the landlady had been hashed out in much detail during Draco’s trial. In fact, Harry felt like a royal idiot for suggesting the Three Broomsticks in the first place; he wondered why Draco hadn’t rejected the offer to drink there from the get go. Right now, however, he just hoped that if he stayed quiet long enough, Draco would go on and elaborate. His patience paid off.

“You know what I did to her Potter. The things I made her do under the Imperius Curse. I never meant for Katie – for Weasley – for… I never wanted to hurt-”

Harry placed his hand over Draco’s then, grey eyes snapping to meet his own before returning to his cup.

“I know.” Harry sighed in understanding. “You did what you had to do for your family. You expected Dumbledore to see through the cursed necklace, and the poison, to be the great, omnipotent man everyone claimed him to be. You were forced to let the Death Eaters into the school. I know you didn’t _want_ to do those things, and I _know_ you torn yourself apart that year. It was a war, there were more than two sides Draco, and you were in the grey – being backed into a corner. Only someone that found pride and enjoyment in their orders from that bastard deserved to be punished. Only those that feel remorse and guilt over the thing they were forced to do, deserve absolution.” 

Harry looked pointedly at Draco, willing the man to understand that he deserved forgiveness and freedom, but Draco just stared at his mug. Harry could see him discreetly biting at the inside of his cheek, his breathing increased ever so slightly, and his glossy grey eyes closed for that moment too long. Harry couldn’t help but rub his thumb over the back of Draco’s hand, but he stayed silent – waiting for Draco to find his voice.

Without looking up, Draco voiced his fears. “I can’t – I can’t face her. I can’t look at her and see the terror in her eyes or the – I just couldn’t-” Fear of crying, of showing his weakness, halted his words. Harry saw a single tear fall from Draco’s bowed head, and it landed with a plop into the coffee mug. “I though I could- I thought-” Draco got up from the table to leave the room, but Harry was faster.

Harry stopped Draco leaving and hugged the man to his chest – to hell with masculine or pureblood expectations. “It’s okay.” Harry patted his back, holding him closer than was probably necessary. “Draco, whatever you say here, stays here alright. Besides, you have blackmail over me now you know.”

Draco chuckled into Harry shoulder, and Harry pulled back with a small smile. He squeezed Draco’s shoulder. “We both hide our pain, our grief and our guilt. As misplaced as half of it probably is, it still hurts right?”

Draco nodded. “Thank you, Harry.” He whispered.

“Come on then.” Harry gestured for Draco to sit down, trying to lighten to depressive air that had befallen the room. “I’ll make some more coffee, shall I? Try to finish what I was talking about. You know, before I lost my marbles down the toilet.”

“Are you sure Potter? What if-”

“I guess you’ll just have to give me another hug then.” The words had left Harry’s lips before his brain had even giving consent, and he turned to busy himself with a fresh batch of coffee.

“I don’t do… _hugs,_ Potter.” Draco sneered as he sat back down at the huge dining room table.

“I am honoured then - for having you in my arms three times today already.” Harry teased, going alone with his first comment now that it had been said. The glare Harry received made him laugh, and the swooping butterflies gave a blush to his cheeks.

“What is said here, stays here?” Draco clarified slowly, as if confirming that fact and reminding himself of Harry’s words.

“Yep!” Harry replied, promising Draco of his discretion and secrecy. Their shared weaknesses were only between them, and that had somehow brought them closer as friends. A blushing smile was still on Harry’s face as he lowered the fresh coffee onto the table.

Harry sat down opposite Draco. “In all seriousness though, I meant it Draco. I like you – when you’re not being a total moody prat anyways. Your past doesn’t change that. I like who you are now, and it’s the now and onwards that matters to me. I won’t hurt you by taking the piss, or by telling people your business – not even Ron or Hermione, and even I don’t share half my pain with them. I only ask for the same courtesy in return.”

Harry held Draco’s eyes as he continued. “I don’t think bad of you for breaking down earlier either, I’ve done it enough times. I know how humiliating and weak it can make you feel, but… I have your back Draco. I hope that’s something you can accept because … I think I need someone to have mine too. You up for that?”

Draco looked around the room before replying. “Mmm. Oh, sorry Potter. I was just wondering who decorated this hideous dining room!”

Harry glanced around at the old cabinets that he’d cleaned and varnished in a nice cherry-mahogany shade; the light flax coloured walls that he’d stripped and painted; the varnished oak table with the simple butter coloured tablecloth down the centre; the twenty cherry-mahogany chairs with their butter coloured cushions; and the new assortments of dinning ware and glasses on display. He thought it was okay.

When he looked back at Draco however, he smiled; Draco’s nose was exaggeratedly wrinkled in disgust, and he realised then, that it was avoidance for prides sake. Draco had agreed that they would have each other’s back, but he wouldn’t admit that out loud. The random attack on his dinning room décor, was Draco’s way of avoiding an otherwise awkward and sentimental conversation –- in fact, that was something Tau would do

“Would you like a tour?” Harry suddenly suggested, hoping to avoid the topic of Horcruxes a little longer if he were honest. “I have drunk far too much coffee to stay seated.”

It wasn’t just the coffee that was making him restless though, but the bomb of thoughts, feelings, and memories that had gone off inside him. The more he got to know Draco, the harder it became to deny the truth of who Tau actually was. It was so blindingly obviously, and yet, he still wasn’t ready to accept it. Soon - soon he would find out without a shadow of a doubt, but right now, Draco had just agreed to the tour.

* * *

“This house was full of dark energy, dust, dirt, and falling apart.” Harry explained as he watched Draco reading book titles in the library. Draco already held four books that Harry had agreed to let him borrow – three on potions, and one about rare plants and their uses. The library had been stripped back, cleaned, painted in soft cream shades, and divested of cursed or exceptionally dark materials.

“I had boggarts, pixies, doxies, dust mite, bugs… you name it this place had it.” Harry continued, sitting down the teal coloured sofa to wait for Draco. “So many dark artifacts and rituals had passed this house – the walls vibrated in it. Walburga’s portrait wouldn’t shut the fuck up and-”

“Wait! Walburga?” Draco turned to face Harry. “As in Auntie Walburga?” When Harry nodded, he asked - “Why do you have her portrait here?”

“This is 12 Grimmauld Place, the _most ancient and noble_ house of Black. Sirius made me heir before his death – not that I knew that of course, but I hold the tile ‘Lord Black’ now – along with Potter of course.”

Draco abandoned his book hunting, practically throwing himself down on the identical couch opposite Harry. “You- Potter, you do realise that now my father is in prison you can preside over my own mother!”

“Yeah. Erm… The Goblins might have said something about that, but I have no interest to mess with her life.” Harry explained, not seeing the big deal.

“Harry, you don’t understand. My mother _wants_ a divorce, but requesting one is demeaning. She wouldn’t have any access to the Malfoy vaults or properties any longer either. If you were to deem her marriage in breach of the marriage contract, or express concern for her wellbeing as the Lord of Black, she could be released of her vows without condemnation and blame. She’d probably be entitled to a substantial sum of the Malfoy funds – well, what remains of my fathers that is, as indemnification.”

“Re-Really? What about you though?” Harry asked.

“I’m not sure.” Draco slouched slightly as he thought. “Mmm, I am an adult now. The right of lord Malfoy is already mine because my father has been sentenced to life in Azkaban. Worst case scenario, I will have to become a Black like my mother. I don’t think It would come to that though, and seeing as I am the remaining male of the Malfoy line, they should honour the protection of the sacred families act. To be honest though, my family’s name no longer holds the respect and reverence it once did. I don’t care if it ends with me.” 

“I don’t mind helping. If that’s what your mother really wants then I’ll look into it, but I’ll need your help. I really don’t know how all that stuff works.”

“That, I can do. I will write to mother tomorrow.” Draco went to get up, but then he frowned. “I never saw Auntie Walburga’s portrait during the tour of this _acceptable_ abode?

“ _Acceptable_? I’ll have you know that this is a thousand times better then it was.” Harry said, folding his arms.

“That it may be Potter, but it is still only acceptable as far as living accommodations go. Nothing noble or remarkable about it.” Draco insisted.

“Well, I’d like to see you do better! As for Mrs Black … It was the day I was basically fired from work, due to my - well you saw why today.” Harry unfolded his arms and sighed. “I came home in a raging fit, slamming things, breaking things, and the state of the house only spurred me on. I didn’t regret breaking anything because it was all destined to be burned anyway. Then dear old Mrs Black’s portrait started screaming and insulting me and my lack of employment, and next thing I knew… I had blown up the wall – literally. That window at the end of the entrance hallway… let’s just say, it hasn’t always been there.”

Draco snorted… chuckled… and then started laughing that adorable, heart warming quiet laugh of his. Harry found his smile, his laughter, so contagious that he couldn’t help the mirth that rose up and burst from his lips in joyful laughter.

“Her portrait has protection charms and the like…” Harry went on when he could talk again. “…So, she didn’t get damaged. She was still attached to part of the wall though, and I had shocked her into total silence. I couldn’t believe she had nothing to say – just looked at me gaping. We managed to have her moved to the Black vaults – Kreacher was pissed, hated me for the entire year.”

“It’s not typical for adult wizards to have bursts of accidental magic. Must have been some anger!” Said Draco. 

“Actually, I think it was intentional to some degree. I remember wanting to get rid of her, to shut her up for once. I wanted her gone, and then suddenly the wall was no more. I also realised that I’d been using wandless magic during my entire rage. That’s when I discovered that I didn’t need a wand for basic spells, and half the slightly more difficult ones either. On top of that, Hermione pointed out the next time she came over, that I had somehow broken the curses or what not in the house, and dispelled the dark energy.”  
  
“How?” Draco sat there almost gaping, and Harry wanted to laugh again.

“I don’t know exactly.” Harry admitted, rubbing the back of neck. “Hermione has already questioned and tested me to death, and she thinks that my hatred of the house – its darkness, and depressing smog if you like, pissed me off so much that during my rage, I somehow got my wish to be rid of it. I was just happy to know that I wouldn’t go mad living here. After that, the house was easier to clean and decorate. I didn’t get my job at the school for a few months, so I spent all my free time on the house. I discovered that I get bored siting on my butt all day, so I got right into it and obliterated the place.” Harry shook his head and smiled at a memory. “I remember inviting the Weasleys over for dinner after I did the first two floors; Molly wasn’t sure it would be a good idea – said it would be safer to go to them, everyone else dragged their feet over, but once they got here… I swear it took an hour to pick up their jaws off the floor.”

“You never cease to amaze me Potter. I must admit, I am curious now. How bad was this place? Surely it couldn’t have been that bad, having belonged to my mother’s family and all.”

“Oh, I’d say… a cross between Myrtle’s bathroom, a four-hundred-year-old abandoned classroom, and the dark depths of the Forbidden forest – and then times that by at least a hundred and fill with dark artifacts. I could always just show you a memory in a pensive.”

“I will hold you to that.” Draco smirked. Somehow, Harry got the impression that Draco didn’t quite believe him. 

A comfortable silence fell over them as Draco returned to the books, but Harry had a sudden desire for fresh air. He knew he should finish explaining about the Horcruxes soon – the break from the topic wouldn’t satisfy Draco for long, he’d have question later for sure. At least he’d accomplished one of the things he had wanted to achieve – to get Draco to open up to him a little.

He looked over at Draco, taking in his elegantly long fingers and the way they held the books – long fingers trailing each spine as he browsed; his sharp defined jaw line with a rather attractive amount of stubble; and flawless pale skin, with that beautiful pink blush. The sun would be setting soon, and Harry wondered what the changing colours would do to that platinum hair, or his coin-grey eyes, or indeed… that perfect taught skin across his cheekbones.

Oh… he sighed, lost to the vision before him. _‘Please be Tau.’_

With that though, he knew what he wanted. He wanted Draco Malfoy with Tau’s personality. Gods help him, he was a sick bastard, but he liked Draco, there was no doubt about that. He had come to realised that he cared for the blond, perhaps a little more that platonic. There were new parts of Draco he was seeing all the time that he… well, he loved those parts of the man. All it would take, was a little more give from Draco - a little more of what Tau had given him in all those letters, and he knew… he knew he would fall in love.

“You okay?” Draco asked, a slight frown marring that perfect brow as he looked over at him.

Harry scratched his neck. “Yeah. I was just…” Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “…Just wondering if you fancied an evening picnic? It’s nearly five – we have to get back to Hogwarts soon, but I need the fresh air to be honest. I also want to finish explaining the horcruxes to you before I lose my nerve and never tell you.”

Harry returned his glasses, and he saw Draco quickly turning his face back to the books.  
_‘Was he staring at me?’_

“Y-Yeah that sounds like a good idea.” Draco played it off as if he’d finished book browsing and simply wanted to sit back down. “What about the secrecy though? What if someone over hears us, or you need your potions, or- What?”

Harry had been called up on the smile he was aiming at Draco, but he didn’t care and shrugged. Draco was obviously worried about him, and that was a nice feeling – to be worried about period. Oh, he had people that worried about him – far too much actually, but it was the type of the worry. Hermione worried far too invasively; dear Molly worried by over feeding you and fussing; Ron worried by running to Hermione, or thinking that a quick pat on the back and a pep talk solved everything; and Minerva worried from afar, or with biscuits and tea. Draco’s worry was different, welcoming, and definitely less invasive. 

“I know a place. It will be deserted anyway at this time of day, but I can ward the area as well to be safe. I’ll take a calming draught with me - I always do anyway if I’m not at work or at home. I haven’t needed it in ages though, so, I doubt I’ll need it again. I’m sure today was just a one off.” Harry smiled, raising to his feet and stretching.

“Alright then Harry, if you’re sure.” Draco stood up too, a small smile gracing his lips. “Let us get what we need, and then we shall enjoy the melody of nature.”

Harry suddenly remembered Tau’s words: _“…Absorbing the heightened magic of nature while denuded of all apparel.”_ He chuckled at the memory, and then suddenly felt the heat in his cheeks when the images of Draco luring him into the forest naked returned.

“Come on then.” Harry said, before Draco commented on his embarrassment. “I’ll get Kreacher to gather some food, we can go find a basket or something, and a ground blanket.”

Harry swiftly left the Library, Draco hot on his heels and none the wiser to Harry’s lewd thoughts. 

* * *

Harry was right, the sunset made Draco glow. It warmed Draco’s pale skin, made his hair golden, and blurred out everything else. He found himself wanting to lean his head on Draco’s shoulder, but instead, he laid back on the blanket and stared up at the waking stars.

He then felt Draco do the same, but he was so close that their arms brushed. His heart seemed to speed up a fraction as his breath halted, but Draco didn’t say anything.

They laid there enjoying the colour changes of the sky, feeling the autumn breeze. It was as if a soothing blanket had been draped over him – something calm and grounding after the difficult topic of Horcruxes he’d just endured, and he suspected that it had something to do with man lying beside him now. 

“Thank you, Harry.” Draco almost whispered, but it still startled him from his thoughts.

“What for?” Harry whispered back.

“For saving the world with your sacrifice. For being brave enough to die for people that may never know you. For saving me. For allowing us this opportunity to just gaze at the stars and breath. And, for dragging me to your… acceptable little abode, and being a friend when I needed one.” 

Traitorous tears pooled in Harry’s eyes as he blinked. He had never been thanked in such a way before; most people thanked him for being a hero, giving him credit for the things he’d never even done - and never showing their gratitude towards others who had also played a part in winning the war.

The way Draco worded it was sincere, touching, and it really hit home what his death had actually achieve for the world. He’d never accepted that he’d done more then actually be a sacrifice, but now… now he could see all the things that might not have been if he hadn’t done his duty. He still grieved for those lost, but now he could see all the things his sacrifice _had_ saved – Draco being one of them.

“Harry?” Draco’s concerned voice registered in his ears, but it was the gentle thumb that brushed away a stray tear that startled him. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have-” Draco panicked as he hurried back to his side, sitting crossed leg and looking out across the hills in embarrassment. 

“No. Its okay, really! I’m just being stupid. You just -- you have no idea what those words meant to me.” Harry sat up and smiled warmly at the man next to him, before looking out at the horizon. “I always hear such rubbish. People thinking I’m a hero that single handedly won the war, but everyone played a part – even you Draco!” He turned to face Draco once again.

“Me? I was a coward. Too scared and too ignorant to do the right thing.” Draco sighed, staring at his bent knees.

“No Draco! You kept you and your family alive. If Narcissa had – if she hadn’t been there to lie to Tom, I might have died and stayed dead. We all have a knock-on effect; we all played a part. Even the terrible things Tom _made_ you do, do not take away the goodness that I know is in here.” Harry placed his palm on Draco’s chest.

Their eyes met - both sets blurry in their struggle to accept the truth of each other’s words. As their eyes continued to hold contact, and Harry could feel Draco’s heart beat beneath his hand, he felt an awkwardness suddenly descend on him like a cold shower – this had become far to mawkish for his taste. _‘Oh Merlin!’_

Harry suddenly patted Draco on the shoulder, and stood up rather quickly. “Come on, we best get back I’m afraid. It’s nearly Nine already, we need to be up for work tomorrow. I just hope Minerva doesn’t have kittens that we abscond for the day.” Harry said.

He, offered a chuckling Draco his hand - to help him up.

“I’m sure she’d have found a way to contact us had she needed to. Still, I think I’ll avoid her for a few days to be sure.” Draco said, brushing himself down.

Harry laughed, waved his hand, and their picnic packed up and vanished back home. “Shall we?” Harry offered to do the disapparation, with Draco as his side alone.

“Indeed.” Draco smiled warmly, taking Harry’s hand in his own rather tightly.

With a crack, the hills were once again left in solitude under the calm night sky. The wind caressed the grass back to shape, from where two teachers had once laid - releasing some of their long-carried burdens. Even the stars seemed to wink knowingly as the moon rose to guard the night. 


	11. Irrefutable evidence

The week flew by in a flurry of classes, grading, and normal day-to-day stuff. He corresponded with Tau as if nothing had changed, waiting for his chance to find that irrevocable and undeniable proof of his identity as Draco. Now that he’d already made the connection however, it was easy to see Tau and Draco as one person – when he wrote to Tau, he already saw Draco as the recipient. 

The only difference between Tau and Draco, seemed to be in their confidence and willingness to be open in terms of personality. Tau wrote freely for the most part; among his jovial words, his joking taunts, and the way he alluded to things or acted with a laughable arrogance, he allowed his true personality to shine through.

Draco’s personality was sometimes identical to Tau’s – if you paid attention to him – hidden behind layers of masks and shields, but when he relaxed and forgot about his need to be defensive or protective of himself from others… Harry could see that identicality. The times when that hidden personality of his was allowed to shine – like their whisky night back in September, were something almost precious … something wonderful and catalytic. 

A part of Harry was timorous and reluctant; he _wanted_ Tau to be Draco, but he wondered if the man would even give him a chance once he realised that his illusion of Padfoot … was just Harry.

There was a knock at the door to his private chambers, the sound pulling him from the depths of his thoughts. He should have been grading papers, but once again he’d gotten lost in his own mind.

When he opened the door, a slightly ruffled Draco Malfoy stood there slightly breathless. 

“Auror Graves is speaking with Minerva, he requests your presence.” Draco cut to the chase before Harry could even greet him. “Immediately!”

“Right!” Harry frowned, closing his door and following Draco to the Headmistress office in a hurry. “What’s this about – – Silas?”

“Yes. I think Graves is letting his emotions run this case. I was just there; he is determined to find a reason to have the boy arrested but his attitude suggests he blames Minerva.”

“What for?” Harry was bewildered. There was nothing concrete to hold against the boy, and therefore no point in reporting Mr Silas Avery to the Aurors department.

“It’s ludicrous Potter; Minerva is nearly pulling her hair out, but Graves thinks she is withholding information or isn’t bothered by Silas’s behaviour. I personally believe that Graves has a rather strong dislike against Death Eaters, believes them all accountable – exonerated or not, and Silas just happens to be the son of one.”

Harry could hear the bitterness in Draco’s voice, and he could already guess the attitude that Graves held towards Draco. When they reached the headmistresses office – behind the gargoyle and up the spiral stairs, he got to witness that very hostility.

“That will be all Mr Malfoy.” Auror Graves alluded with a face of disgust, obviously wanting Draco to leave.

“As head of Slytherin house, I am in charge of the Slytherin’s education and well-being. As Mr Silas Avery is a Slytherin, I shall remain present at the meeting.” Draco insisted.

Auror Graves stood from his seat and practically sneered at Draco, asserting his superiority as an Auror. “I asked nicely, won’t ask again.”

“Then don’t.” Draco said, sitting in a chair opposite Minerva’s desk.

Harry swore he saw Minerva’s lips twitch as if holding back humour, and the look of barely restrained outrage on Graves face almost made Harry snort.

“Mr Malfoy! This is a confidential legal matter, and it is against protocol to have a Death Eater present.” Auror Graves spat.

Harry could see the hurt and anger flash across Draco’s face, but he wore a mask of steel and held eye contact with the Auror. “Then it is a good thing I was exonerated then. Tell me, _Mr Graves_ , what Auror protocol do you speak of? Seeing as how it … _apparently_ affects my job, I think I should familiarise myself with these details.”

“Think you’re so high and mighty huh? Think you-”

Harry chose that moment to cut in.

“I think you should hold your tongue Elroy! Can I call you that? Elroy.” Harry didn’t give the Auror a chance to respond, patting the man’s chest twice before continuing. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to break code forty-six of the Aurors conduct. I’m sure there’s no need for me to contact Dale with some pensive memories now is there?”

Auror Graves gritted his teeth. “Not at all Mr Potter.”

“Good. How is Kingsley by the way? He keeps trying to arrange a tea date, but you know how jobs go.” Harry winked at Draco as he took the chair next to the blond. Draco looked surprised, but at least he didn’t seem angry that Harry had intervened. Minerva looked much more relaxed now, her lips still twitching. 

“As far as I’m aware Mr Potter, he is in good health.” Mr Graves answered.

Harry knew that Graves wouldn’t have the same liberty that he did when it came to the minster of magic himself, but it would remind Auror Graves to think carefully before he tried to fuck with him and his own. He smiled warmly, as if this was an everyday conversation between them.

“That’s good to hear. Sit Elroy, didn’t we have something of importance to discuss. Not that I don’t enjoy our little conversations, but I’m sure we all have important things to get back to. I would hate to keep you longer than necessary.” Harry pointed at the empty chair.

“Yes. Right!” Auror Graves seemed to remember himself again. He sat back down and started his line of questioning.

* * *

“You were quite rude, and dare I say, _cunning_ Mr Potter. You had _poor_ Mr Grave feeling rather anxious and uncomfortable, hardly the way to address authority.” Minerva addressed Harry in a stern tone once Auror – Mr Elroy Graves had left through the flow. “Have a biscuit Harry!” Minerva insisted, lifting the plate of uneaten shortbreads. she couldn’t contain her slight smile this time.

Harry took one to please her, a smirk on his face.

“Where on earth did you–?” Draco asked, still in shock at the way Harry had handled Auror Graves.

“I did train with the Auror Department for nearly a year.” Harry explained. “Mr Dale Rogers is head of the Auror Department. Mr Elroy Graves is just the head Auror of his team, but he likes to throw about his title falsely – so people think he’s head of the department. Graves was there when I was training, and he’s always been threatened by me because I was outing him even as a trainee.”

“Well, you were spectacular!” Minerva smiled momentarily, before her face returned to it normal stern expression. “I dare say we haven’t seen the last of him though. Mr Avery and his mother will not be best pleased when he makes _that_ house call.”

“We’ll deal with it. We always do.” Harry said.

“That we do Harry. That we do indeed.” Minerva nodded

* * *

“Fancy a drink tomorrow?” Draco asked as they walked back to Harry’s chambers.

Harry wondered why Draco was following him back to his rooms, or escorting him back. Something had changed since their failed trip to the Three Broomsticks at the begging of the week, but Harry wasn’t complaining. Draco had started looking out for him during meal times, and he’d even turned up at his door with a plate of food when he’d missed dinner on Wednesday. Draco smiled at him when they passed each other in the hallways, and the man seemed happier to be in his company. Draco had almost become his shadow. The surprising thing about it though, was that it felt right. Draco Malfoy … by his side … felt right!

“Sure! We can go to muggle London if you like.” Harry suggested.   
_‘No bloody reporters, nothing to strike up bad memories, and no one to recognised us.’_ He thought.

“Hmm. I don’t think I’ve ever had muggle coffee. It shall be a new experience.” Draco smiled.

Harry laughed. Warmth filled his stomach and he shook his head at how Draco was so … well, so Draco!

“What?” Draco asked, the look of actual bewilderment on his face made Harry laugh again.

“Nothing!” Harry shoulder bumped him. “I can assure you though, muggles make good coffee too.”

It felt right, it felt good, and Harry knew it was only a matter of time before he fell in too deep. He could already feel himself falling…

* * *

That evening, Harry was situated on his bed like every evening; a cup of coffee on the bedside table, and the magical parchment in front of him. He wasn’t yet ready for bed, but he was winding down for the day. 

** Message from Tau: **

_After much thought and deliberation, I can honestly say that I have no idea what my biggest fear is Padfoot. There is much that I fear, in the same way that one is afraid of bad days – afraid of making a fool of oneself – afraid that plans will not come to pass – or afraid that someone you love will pass away. I fear that the positive things in my life won’t last, that they are but fleeting moments of happiness – too good to be true. I cannot help myself from expecting the other shoe to drop, or wondering when my debts will be collected. _

_A childhood acquaintance once turned fear into an acronym; ‘fuck everything and run’. It was what I once would have done, in fact, perhaps it still is my initial reaction – to avoid my fears instead of facing them. Something that has been more apparent to me this year. I think it is time for a new acronym – ‘forget everything and remember’._

_Remember that which is reality and realistic; remember that we have faced worse and survived; remember that fear is nothing more then a state of mind – therefore it can be conquered; remember that fear prevents understanding and alters perception; and remember that fear is only an obstruction when we allow it to win._

_It is easy to run from our fears and ignore them - I am guilty of such, but I have never been particularly brave Padfoot. I don’t think I ever will be… but I will try to remember._

_It is now my turn to ask a question.  
Have you ever questioned your sanity, and why?_

_Tau. x_

**Message end-**

Harry read the words twice to be sure he hadn’t missed anything. Everything Tau had said made sense – unsurprisingly. Harry, however, thought it a shame that the man’s fears prevented him from accepting something good.

It’s almost tragic when one hesitates to trust and accept, simply because you _could_ get hurt. 

Harry was afraid that if Tau knew his real identity, the words - ‘it was too good to be true’ would in fact, be true. Yet, their talk of fears and overcoming them gave Harry a sudden confidence to be brave. He needed that solid, undeniable, without a doubt proof that Tau _was_ Draco. It didn’t matter how much he thought he knew, it didn’t even matter that he was already sure of that fact … he was afraid of making a fool out himself. If that minuscule possibility that it was all just a big coincidence came to be, then he would feel like a total idiot. In fact, he would be devastated.

Harry wondered if the reason he was so afraid, was because he feared that minuscule chance that he would be wrong – that in the end, he would have to choose between Draco and Tau. He wanted them to be one and the same so badly that he feared it wouldn’t be the case. Blissful ignorance could only last so long. 

He read Tau’s words once more, quite sure that he could imagine Blaise Zabini behind the words – ‘Fuck everything and run’, but that was exactly what he was doing wasn’t it? Running and hiding from the truth that he wanted it to be Draco. He had to remember.

Remember that no good would come from avoiding what was so totally obvious; remember that he would gain nothing from being blissfully ignorant; and remember, that if he could face his death – literally, then he could face this.

He had a plan, a plan that he hoped would pay off … but first, he had to answer Tau.   
_‘Have you ever questioned your sanity, and why?’_

He chuckled, reaching for his coffee. He was questioning his sanity right now!

He _had_ questioned his sanity many times in the past: when he was a child and strange things happened around him: when Voldemort was in his head and he thought he was going insane: when he heard voices in the walls that his friends couldn’t hear: when he raced into danger with no plans: and when his mental stability crashed after the war. He couldn’t share any of that with Tau however … not yet.

So, what did he say?

By the time his coffee had been finished, he’d finally decided on his reply.

** Message to Tau: **

Ah Tau,

I am afraid that I cannot elaborate my answer, but yes, I have questioned my sanity many times. The most I can give you, is that I have experienced things no one else could see or hear – real things, but being the only one made me feel like I was losing my mind.

I assure you; those things were soon proven very real. I was not mad.

Other times were born from grief, mental pain, and the questioning of oneself. I will admit that a lot of times, even though I had people around me, I felt alone. Feeling alone with so many questions and painful emotions, well, it would make one question their sanity I suppose.

Have you ever felt like a minuscule dot, even though you are surrounded by a world of people? 

** Message end- **

Harry took a deep breath, readying his nerves for part two of his plan. Hopefully his question would keep Tau distracted long enough.

With that though, he quickly stashed the parchment and quill into his draw, then hurried from his private chambers.

* * *

_‘Fuck everything and run!’_

It was a mantra that he couldn’t shake as he waiting for Draco to open the door, but he had to remember that he was here for a reason. He was ready to uncover the irrefutable truth if he could.

He just hoped that Draco would rush to get the door, and that he wouldn’t put away whatever it was he was doing first. ‘ _Writing on his parchment with any luck’_ – Harry’s brain supplied.

The door opened, and judging by Draco’s features, Harry must have been emanating the nervousness he certainly felt. He suddenly couldn’t remember what the fuck he had planned to say – it was like his brain had short-circuited.

“Are you okay Harry?” Draco asked, opening the door up further to reveal the man’s attire: grey long-sleeved pyjamas, in what appeared to be a soft tracksuit type material. _Merlin_ – the man looked adorably innocent. Harry blinked; he didn’t know why he’d expected Draco to be the green silk type of man.

Before Draco could say anything else, Harry had invited himself inside. He was already searching the room with his eyes for evidence of a magical parchment, quickly trying to remember his excuse for being there in the first place.

“We never set a time for tomorrow or agreed where to meet up.” Harry blurted out. It was true, but it wasn’t the lie he had prepared – damn it, now he sounded like an idiot.

Draco frowned. “You could have asked me at breakfast.”

Harry looked back at Draco, having failed to see any writing materials left out, and realised Draco was giving him a very suspicious look. “I could have, yes. But… erm… it’s just…” He closed his mouth – he was ruining this! ‘ _Think Harry, think!_ “I had another flash back.”

 _‘Damn it, Harry! Now you’ll have to run with it!!!’_ He berated himself.

“Oh… And you came to me?” Draco asked, acting a little awkwardly.

“Yeah, sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I should just-” Harry stopped talking the moment a warm hand touched his shoulder.

“I’ll get some us coffee.” Draco nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?” Draco asked, walking to the small kitchenette and started boiling some water.

“No! I mean, no, I just needed…” Harry could have slapped himself; he was a terrible liar and this felt all kinds of wrong. Luckily Draco seemed to accept it though.

“I get It Potter. As for tomorrow, shall we say lunch time, twelve, and I’ll meet you at your room?” Draco flicked his wand and muttered a spell to turn off the flame. He levitated the hot metal kettle and started putting together the coffee.

“Sure! That sound good.” Harry nodded, trying to relax.

He watched as Draco finished the coffee, wondering where he would hide the parchment if he had one. A though then dawned on him – what if Draco wrote in his bedroom like he did?

“Sit down then Potter.” Draco nodded to the black leather, camel back sofa. Harry did, taking his coffee with a grateful smile.

Draco’s rooms where different to his own; simple, less cluttered, more organised, and laid out differently with more space – _‘Bigger.’_ He thought. There were plants in large vases – simple greenery really, and various dark green textiles here and there, but Harry noticed only one other door in the room – besides the main door that was.

 _‘Ah, Draco must have an en-suite.’_

“How were lessons today. You have two classes to teach on Fridays, right?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, that’s right. How do you know my timetable?” Harry frowned. It honestly surprised him that Draco had paid attention to that, or that he had remember after only two months working here.

“You never seem to have lessons after lunch on a Friday, neither do I.”

“I could still have three classes.” Harry intoned with a voice that suggested insinuation.

“But you don’t. You just confirmed that. It was a question if you remember, I never stated that you had two.” Draco smirked.

Harry chuckled. They continued talking for while about small things and work, drinking their coffee and enjoying each other’s company. Harry still felt guilty though; he was taking up Draco’s evening, and the man was obviously not turning him away because he though Harry had another episode and needed companionship.

Harry still wanted to check the bedroom however, to see if the parchment had been left out. He doubted he would be so lucky, but the fact that Draco only had an en-suite gave him the perfect excuse to quickly glance around Draco’s bedroom, and it seemed a shame to waste the opportunity to check. He wasn’t about to go snooping around, but a quick glance wouldn’t hurt.

“May I use your restroom?” Harry asked, a little sheepishly. He couldn’t help but feel ashamed of his deception, but he did actually require the use of facilities. 

“Of course. Its an en-suite so it’s through the bedroom.” Draco pointed.

“Thank-you.” Harry nodded and made his way to the en-suite.

“Harry!” Draco call to him, just as he’d entered Draco’s bedroom.

“Yeah?” Harry turned. Draco had rushed in behind him.

“Its just over there.” Draco said, pointing to the door of the en-suite.

“Oh, really. I thought it was through the closet. Good thing you came and steered me in the correct direction.” Harry quipped sarcastically.

“Well, I can’t trust you not to go rummaging through my things obviously. You just admitted your desire to go through my closet – a heinous crime has thus been prevented.” Draco sniffed as if he’d been personally insulted. Harry also noticed how Draco was blocking the view to his bed.

“You caught me.” Harry chuckled, knowing full we that the conversation was all in jest. The fact that he had been about to scan the room with his eyes was neither here nor there.

“Well, hurry up then Potter, or I’ll revoke my hospitality and refuse you the use of _my_ facilities.” Draco warned playfully, but Harry could sense the man’s nervousness.

“I’m going – Merlin.” Harry muttered in good nature.

As he was about to shut the door to the bathroom behind him however, he bit his lip, peeked his head around the door and looked over at the bed.

His heart leaped, stopped, shuddered, and the raced.

Draco was just stuffing the familiar parchment and quill under his pillow. Harry really couldn’t deny it any longer. Draco was Tau! Sure, it could just be another coincidence but… who was he trying to kid? How much more evidence did he really need? 

“Potter!” Draco’s eyed met his own. Harry saw Draco’s throat bob as the man swallowed, and Harry noticed how uncertain he was to what he’d seen – embarrassed maybe?

“I’m just gonna…” Harry nodded behind him, closed the door and sighed. ‘ _Well fuck!’_

* * *

A few minutes later – after a pep talk to himself in the bathroom mirror whilst washing his hands, Harry returned to the main room.

“Sorry Draco. I just … I didn’t mean to-”

“Its fine Potter.” Draco rushed to explain. “I was just putting some stuff away.”

“A female colleague at the work…” Harry lied slowly, choosing his words carefully. “When I was doing my Auror training, she had that same parchment and quill Draco. It’s from Le’Amortentia isn’t it?” Harry asked, feigning innocence. His heart was still pounding from the overwhelming evidence. Draco was Tau! 

Draco stood up from the couch defensively. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s nothing to ashamed of.” Harry tried, but Draco was already running behind his shields.

“It’s none of your business. I didn’t take you for someone to go snooping around in other people’s bedrooms!” Draco’s voice was raised, but Harry could hear the humiliation over the anger.

“I wasn’t snooping Draco! I simply glanced over at you as I was shutting the bathroom door. I just recognised what it was, that’s all!”

“Well now you know!” Draco snapped, pacing the room. He quickly stopped and turned to face him again. “I suggest you go Potter. It’s getting late.”

“Draco!”

“Just go Potter!”

Harry sighed and walked to the door as Draco opened it. He stopped in the door way before Draco could close the door.

“There’s nothing wrong with using a dating service Draco! I’m not judging you. I’ll see you tomorrow right, at twelve?” Harry asked. He was praying that Draco wouldn’t panic and flee, avoid him because he though Harry would take the piss or something.

Draco’s eyes searched Harry’s face, almost as if he was trying to read the sincerity of his words. He finally nodded. “Good night Harry.” Draco then shut the door.

Harry sighed on the other side, alone in the cold dungeon corridor. He wanted to bang his head against the wall, but instead, he forced his feet to start moving back to his own room.

What had he been thinking? If Draco found out that he’d lied, found out that he’d only made the visit to seek out evidence, he’d be throttled by the man. He groaned, not only that, but he hated lying. He could hold back the truth, refuse to talk about things, but outright lying made him feel terrible – especially when it wasn’t for the greater good.

And oh fuck! What was he going to do now?

He knew Tau was Draco – he fucking knew it!!! It was just that, having the evidence slapping him in the face was a whole new can of worms. Yes, he still had that tiny, minuscule feeling of in denial - what if it was all just a big coincidence, and what if Draco had a totally different chérie that wasn’t him at all? He scoffed at himself – _bullshit_! Draco was Tau – it was glaringly obvious!

Blond hair, grey eyes, same height, same personality, same fears, same arrogance, same dating company, both purebloods, both had a weakness for chocolate … … and he went giddy at the knees for them both.

There was certainly no ‘both’ of them, just one! One gorgeous, charming, intelligent and funny man. A man with a tonne of good-humoured arrogance, an awkward way of expressing concern, and rare smile that could chase away the darkness inside him and brighten a room. A real man - with flaws, fears, doubts, issues and feelings just like himself.

He would no doubt get more evidence tomorrow that would shut up the annoying wisps of doubt that remained, but he had his answer – Draco and Tau were one and the same. It was indisputable, but what happened now? 

At least Draco hadn’t cancelled their coffee meeting tomorrow, but Harry couldn’t see the man ever giving him a chance at a relationship. 

_‘A relationship with Draco Malfoy?’_ Harry blinked; his steps faltered. Is that what he really wanted? Was he ready for that step? Stranger things had certainly happened, but … It was hopeless wasn’t it?

The thought of Draco not accepting him cut deep, and that told him all he needed to know. He had started falling for Draco bloody Malfoy. It wasn’t a possibility any longer, it was happening.

As he reached his private chamber and opened the door, he decided that all he could do was play the game. For now, he would continue to be two people – Padfoot on parchment, and Harry otherwise. He would see where it led.

Tau and Padfoot weren’t ready to met yet. He would come clean with Draco, eventually, but for now he had to know if Tau liked Padfoot enough to meet him, and he had to know if he stood a chance with Draco as himself … as Harry.

Harry closed the door behind him, a few students hurried down the halls to make curfew, and the moving portraits settled down for the night inside their own frames. 


	12. Three’s a crowd

They sat near Covent Garden in a pricey coffee shop, Draco agreeing – albeit hesitantly and with a dash of criticism for good measure – that the drink was rather good. Harry could not contain his smile when Draco lowered his mug and left a mustache of milk foam behind.

“Oh, shut it Potter!” Draco complained, wiping his face with a paper napkin.

“I didn’t say anything.” Harry held up his hands in a form of pacification, but he still could not contain his mirth. “Can I ask you something though?” He asked a few moments later.

“Oh, here it comes. I was wondering why you hadn’t mentioned it yet. You were trying to lead me into a false sense of security, but I won’t fall for it, Potter!” Draco crossed his arms, looking anywhere but at Harry.

“Oh, come on _Malfoy_ … you scared?” Harry raised his eyebrows as Draco glared daggers at him. Harry just sat there drinking his coffee with a smug grin on his face.

Draco knew it was too good to be true, that Harry would have conveniently forgotten about the Le’Amortentia parchment or decided to do the courteous thing and keep his bloody nose out. He didn’t know why it bothered him if Harry knew or not – perhaps it was a matter of pride, but for some reason he felt like he was being dishonest and he didn’t like having that feeling. Harry was ‘Potter’, his ex-rival, the impulsive golden boy, far too confident, strong-willed, and with a huge sense of morality. Harry would always be too honourable, too liked and loved to be stained by a Malfoy.

“I am not _scared_ Potter. My business is just that, mine!” Draco went silent for a moment; No, Harry Potter wasn’t an option… but Padfoot was! “Okay fine! So, what if I am?”

Harry chuckled and lowered his mug. “You really like this parchment person?”

“And what pray tell, has brought you to that conclusion?” Draco sniffed the air like a pompous prat, but his lips twitched at the memory of words... hundreds of words from one non-judgemental, kind, and challenging man. 

“You’re smiling.” Harry stated calmly, drinking his coffee once again. Draco’s smile vanished in an instant, but his eyes belied his lips.

“ _If_ I were to like someone it is none of your business Potter! I demand you change the subject!” Draco hid his embarrassment behind the action of drinking his own coffee.

Harry loved teasing Draco; the wavering between pure-blooded bullshit and the real Draco was adorable! Harry was positively gushing inside, but outward, he would show no more than a smirk. “What’s your secret chérie like then?” Harry asked as if he was regarding the weather.

Oh, yes – Draco’s fidgeting, that slight blush along his pale cheek bones, and the way his pure-blooded vocabulary failed him made this all worth it. It was rewarding watching Draco Malfoy lose that pure-blooded mask of his. 

“Potter!” Draco spat as he lowered his mug with a thump. He leaned across the wooden table. “It is none of your business!” Draco’s whispered annoyance was weaved with embarrassment and self-contempt, but Harry knew no anger was truly aimed at him.

“Are you ashamed of your secret chérie?” Harry asked, leaning in closer to meet Draco’s face in the middle. “Maybe this person is unintelligent and moronic… wait! Is your secret chérie a squib?” Harry threw the bait… Draco caught it!

“He is _not_ a squib Potter!” Draco nearly shouted as he sat back in his chair, but he caught himself just in time – they were in a muggle coffee shop after all.

“He?” Harry smirked, sitting back likewise.

Draco was all flustered and stuttering, just the way Harry had come to like him actually, but it appeared that Draco had reached his humiliation limit and was about to run.

“I do not have to put up with this!” Draco said, standing up to make his leave.

Having already paid for the coffee’s when they ordered them, Harry didn’t hesitate to bolt after Draco before the blond man could find somewhere to disapparate.

“Draco! Draco, wait!” Harry grabbed Draco’s arm and spun him around. “If it makes you feel any better, I like men too.”

Those words halted Draco, and he looked at Harry observingly. What did it matter if Harry Potter wasn’t straight, or as conventional and perfect as the wizarding world wanted him to be – assumed him to be? Why did it matter to him if Harry liked men? One thing was certain though – if Harry Potter’s sexual preference was men inclined, then Harry couldn’t mock the fact that he was gay without being a hypocrite. He suddenly felt safer with this knowledge; he was on even ground again. He had suspected that Harry wasn’t women inclined, but he didn’t have any solid proof… until now.

“Why should that concern me?” Draco asked. Harry shrugged.

“Just making sure you know that I’m not judging you.” Harry said, then he realised they were attracting onlookers outside the coffee shop. “Walk with me! We’re attracting attention.” Harry then started to walk, hopeful that Draco would follow him.

Draco did follow Harry, but he should have left – should have disapparated back to Hogsmeade, but Harry was becoming a flame to which he was the moth. Harry had disclosed his sexuality to him, and that meant something. He sighed and followed the black-haired prat.

* * *

“He could be you know!” Harry insisted, looking at the many carved wooden bowls and boxes on one of the stalls in Covert Gardens.

“He is _not_ a squib!” Draco insisted strongly. He frowned at the strange wooden things that the muggles sold – they had no magical properties; the wood was polished and easy on the eye but nothing he couldn’t transfigure should he need such a thing.

“Have you asked him? You should you know.” Harry smirked as he walked to another stall, leaving Draco standing there frowning in thought.

* * *

Harry laughed as he reread a certain question on his parchment that night – a question that Tau-Draco had asked him. 

_‘…How proficient are you in charms?”_

Tau-Draco had taken the bait, and Harry couldn’t stop laughing enough to form his reply. The question wasn’t as direct as outright asking if he was a squib, but Harry knew why Draco had asked the question and that was what had caused his mirth.

He finally calmed down enough to think on his reply, and he could either kill the seed of doubt he’d placed into Draco’s mind and say that his wand-work was above average, or he could have fun with it. He eventually decided to do both.

** Part of Harry’s Message to Tau/Draco: **

_‘…Are you concerned about my magical ability Tau? Do you not trust me after all our messages together? Have I not ‘charmed’ my way into your life? You insult my heart mon chéri, and you insult my trust.’_

* * *

Draco and Harry were walking through Hogsmeade the following week. They were currently in the middle of a conversation. 

“So, he didn’t confirm that he _wasn’t_ a squib?” Harry asked, trying not to laugh at how flustered he was making Draco again.

“He flies a broom, he talks about the magical world in detail, and he knows about spells and potions. He isn’t a squib!” Draco insisted for the fourth time, and very defensively too Harry noted. 

“His parents would have magic; he could be lying.” Harry said as they entered Ceridwen's Cauldrons.

Draco ignored him this time in favour of greeting Mrs Allaway and attending to business. Harry remain quiet until they were exiting the shop, only speaking to say goodbye to Mrs Allaway. Once the door closed behind them, Harry turned to Draco. 

“What do you call him then? You must have some name for each other if you’ve been talking for three months.” Harry asked as they walked back to Hogwarts, trudging through the November snow. 

“None of your business!” Draco kept on walking, he refused to make eye contact with Harry. If it wasn’t for the fact that he enjoyed Harry’s company – usually, he would have stopped their meetings because the black-haired prat wouldn’t stop questioning him about Padfoot.

“Come on! You know you’re going to tell me sooner or later, so why not cut to the chase and just tell me now.” Harry had a massive grin; he was loving this far too much Draco noted.

“What makes you think we even _have_ pen names? I could simply call him chéri.”

Draco sniffed the air again, that same pompous action that if Harry didn’t already know he was right it would have confirmed it. Of course, Draco didn’t even know that he did it and Harry wouldn’t tell him. 

“You could, yes… but you don’t. Your avoidance tells me that much.” Harry smirked. “Unless you’re embarrassed because you have sweet pen names like, Buba coo, Pumpkin, or Honey comb.”

“Potter! If you must know, I call him Padfoot.” Draco snapped.

The look Harry was now giving Draco made the blond regret opening his mouth. Draco hurried away in the snow, Harry following him.

“Padfoot? Does he have remarkably huge feet – troll feet?” Harry asked, once again containing his laughter over Draco’s reaction. Harry remembered Draco asking about his feet in jest before, in one of their first messages to each other when they had first chosen their pen names.

* * *

Harry laughed as he held his side, falling sideward to laugh into his bed as tears of mirth fell from his eyes. He rolled onto his back, still laughing at the new question he had been asked by Tau-Draco.

_‘…I envisioned our feet making footsie under the table Mon Chéri, however, I cannot imagine your feet in detail and was hoping you might describe them to me…’_

He had turned Draco into a mess of small insecurities and doubt. He loved it! He also loved the fact that Draco listened to him and was even asking him – as Padfoot of course, questions that he had put into his mind in the first place. He wondered how long it would take before Draco stopped doubting Padfoot, how long it would take before Draco started trusting his own judgment again. 

* * *

Harry’s teasing lasted all through November until Draco had stopped taking the bait. Draco still had no idea that Padfoot and Harry were the same person. They were currently in Draco’s private rooms, drinking whiskey in each other’s company as had become their routine, and It was well into the evening already. 

“So, you’re stuck here over the Christmas holidays?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, but I think I’m using it more of an excuse to avoid the Weasley gathering.” Harry admitted; the truth always spilled easier from his lips when he’d had a few glasses of whiskey. “You?”

“Minerva asked me to stay and I agreed.” Draco said.

Harry saw the glint of grief in Draco’s coin-grey eyes as the blond looked down into his glass of amber liquid.

“No one to spend it with.” Harry almost whispered, but he meant it as understanding. He may have the Weasleys, but their lives were separate to his own – they were family in a way, but they also weren’t. He didn’t want to feel like the odd wheel, the way he always did when he was amongst them all.

“I don’t need your pity-”

“It isn’t pity!” Harry interrupted him, his voice turning grim. “I know how it feels. I never had my own family to spend Christmas with. I had one year with Sirius, but he wasn’t related either – not really.”

“What about your muggle family? You never-”

“No!” Harry interrupted again. “I never got anything from them. I never got to celebrate Christmas with them.”

Draco frowned. “I know you said your life with them wasn’t easy, but you must have-”

“I don’t wish to talk about them!” Harry cut him off sharply. He drunk from his glass and then smiled. “So, what about Padfoot? You at least have him to write sweet nothings too.”

“Oh, do be quiet Potter!” Draco said. “I’m not going to listen to you put doubt into my mind any longer. Padfoot is a kind, generous, and wonderful wizard!”

Draco didn’t know why, but that strange feeling of betrayal and dishonesty pulsed through his veins once again. He looked over Harry and blinked. He had been spending an awful amount of time in Harry’s company lately, and he enjoyed every minute of it. Could he be developing feelings for the golden boy?

“You really like him, don’t you?” Harry asked.

“Who?” Draco’s quick response was defensive, it made Harry frown.

“Padfoot! You really like him, don’t you?”

The room suddenly felt still and silent, eyes met and held, and their breathing seemed louder. Draco coughed and tore his eyes away.

“I do, yes.” Draco answered. He was being honest, he really did like Padfoot … in fact, he might even go as far as to say that he was in love with the Padfoot he’d envisioned, but at the same time he felt like he was turning Harry down. 

“Then why don’t you meet him?” Harry asked. It was the one thing he’d been waiting for – for Tau to ask if they could meet. It scared him though, oh how it terrified him that Draco would turn him away once he knew the truth.

“Honestly? … I’m afraid.” Draco admitted quietly.

“Of being turned down?” Harry asked. Draco just nodded. “If he’s smart then he won’t. If he does then he is a fool that doesn’t deserve you!” 

Their eyes met again, this time with loud unsaid words that resonated through Draco’s body. Those green eyes glowed in the fire light and looked at him with such conviction. Draco could be mistaken, but Harry _liked_ him he was sure. He was also sure that Harry had liked him for a while, and it was no secret to himself that Harry affected him in ways that no one else ever had. Harry Potter was something of an enigma; he was nothing like what others claimed him to be, nothing like what he thought Potter was, and the man was nothing like the boy … or maybe, he was _seeing_ Harry now because he was _looking_. He couldn’t deny that he liked what he saw, but he _was_ serious about Padfoot. Draco was a Slytherin, he had done things that were unforgivable, but he was not a cheat! He would not betray Padfoot without giving the man a chance, without meeting him first at least. Besides, Harry was out of his reach – too good for a Malfoy. For all the words that Harry spoke, perhaps they were just kindness as per the duty of friendship, nothing more. 

Harry could see the way Draco stared at him, could almost see the wheels turning. If he was right, Draco had understood his words perfectly but was now at a crossroad between Padfoot and himself. Harry wanted to tell Draco who he was, but he felt the blond needed more time to realise his own feelings first. Harry however, knew that he was falling in love and that scared him because of who his heart was choosing. It was a comfort that they could spend so much time in each other’s company, but the real test would come later once Draco’s illusion of Padfoot had been destroyed. He just hoped that Draco would be happy that he was Padfoot, and not distraught over the revelation. 

“I meant it you know.” Harry started. “You deserve to find someone and they would be lucky to have the real you in their life, but you need to be yourself Draco. No walls, no hiding behind defensive anger or becoming a jerk because you’re afraid. Find the courage to take the risk. I know that’s hard for you to do, but you’ll be stuck alone if you don’t.” Harry then smiled at him, a brilliant smile that gave Draco courage.

“Maybe I will ask him… to meet me that is.” Draco used his drink as an excuse to look away from green eyes. If Harry did like him as he suspected, then Harry was sure to be hurt by his dedication to Padfoot.

“Good!” Harry nodded. He would be a nervous wreck waiting for Tau to ask Padfoot that very question, and even more nervous about revealing his identity to him, but he had to take the risk too. Harry downed the last of his whisky and then stood up. “I best be going. I have to get some sleep so I can grade all them bloody essays I assigned this week. Why do we do it to ourselves huh?”

Draco chuckled as he stood. “Live in fear or hand out homework?” Draco asked, but he had a feeling that Harry’s sudden desire to leave was because he’d chosen Padfoot. He was sure that Harry had been trying to allude that he had feelings for him, and if that was the case, he’d rejected the man. 

“Both!” Harry laughed. “But I was actually referring to the homework.”

“Ah. That would be to save our hide from Minerva’s wrath should we fail to meet the years curriculum.” Draco smirked.

“True that!” Harry chuckled; Minerva certainly would hex them into the next year if they didn’t meet the requirements. Draco walked with him to the door to see him out. Harry stepped into the hallway before turning around. “Night Draco.”

“Harry?” Draco was hesitant. He bit the inside of lip, cursing himself for even daring to ask… What was he even going to ask? Do you fancy me Potter? Kiss me? Ludicrous! He had Padfoot regardless and he was behaving the fool. 

“Yeah?” Harry frowned slightly, nervous yet hopeful. Silence, Draco obviously couldn’t say or ask what had been on his tongue just seconds ago.

“Have a good night Potter.” Draco said instead, nodding his head once. 

“You too Malfoy.” Harry winked before walking away.

Draco watched Harry disappear around the corner before closing his door. He sighed; trust Harry fucking Potter to leave an imprint on his heart, to worm his way into his life and make him feel things that should never be or never will be. He had Padfoot to think about, and he really hoped that the mystery man could make him forget all about his new feelings for Potter. Something however, was telling him … that wouldn’t be the case at all, and he’d have to make a choice sooner or later. 


	13. The winds of remaining corruption

The Great Hall was already decorated for the Christmas holidays, students excited about going home for the festive season while they enjoyed breakfast. It was Saturday December the eighteenth, a week until Christmas, and the train would be leaving Hogsmeade in a few hours to take most of the students home.

Whilst he had come to enjoy the muggle tradition, Draco would never understand it completely. He had a theory, as did many wizards although there was no proof on the matter, that this Jesus person was actually a wizard born to a muggle mother. It would explain the ‘miracles’ the man was worshiped for. Nothing was written to prove this idea however, except what muggles called ‘the bible’ which was apparently written by Jesus’s and his father’s muggle disciples. Of course, there were too many wizards, either half-bloods or muggle-borns, that held what Draco would call a muggle religion. It was for this reason that the ministry left it alone, let wizards believe what they did and join in with the festivities. At least, over the years, wizards had developed their own traditions, much like atheists who stuck to a story about Santa for the children – another wizard perhaps, that wasn’t careful who witness his magic. Still, the idea that it was a time for family was a wonderful notion after all, except… Draco’s mother was still in France and his father was locked up in Azkaban.

He was alone this year, but it was something of a comfort to know that Harry would be staying at Hogwarts likewise. He would have company, and he had Padfoot to talk with. He still hadn’t asked Padfoot to meet with him, and although he wanted to, he was still afraid. Would Padfoot even agree to the meeting?

“Mr Malfoy?” Minerva called to him across the table. He turned to look at her with a small warm smile. “Have you seen Mr Potter this morning?”

He couldn’t help but feel his smile grow; Harry still had a habit of skipping meals – much to Minerva’s displeasure, and for a moment, Draco wondered when that habit had actually started.

“Why would I be aware of Mr Potter’s whereabouts?” Draco asked. 

“Oh, come off it now Mr Malfoy, we all know you and Harry have been spending quite a substantial amount of time together lately. I may be getting old but I’m not yet senile. I just asked if you had seen him this morning, a simple yes or no would have sufficed.”

“No.” Draco answered. “I have not seen the golden boy this morning. Perhaps he overslept.” Draco doubted that: although Harry liked to stay in bed, he was usually awake at the crack of dawn. He had been looking out for him that morning, watching the Great Hall doors and hoping that he would appear for breakfast. 

“Perhaps.” Minerva didn’t sound like she believed that either. “Go knock on his door for me. Remind him that as head of Gryffindor house, he will be accompanying the students to the train with the other head of houses, and that I wish to see him when he returns.”

“Why not send Mr Longbottom?” Draco asked, looking down the table at the herbology teacher and head of Hufflepuff House. Neville Longbottom looked up upon hearing his name, but Minerva answered Draco’s question before Neville could speak.

“Mr Longbottom will be heading down to Hufflepuff house shortly, to make sure the students are ready to leave on time.” Minerva’s her stern face was softened slightly by the mirth she tried valiantly to hide.

As if on cue, Neville downed the last of his coffee, nodded to the headmistress, and then excused himself from the table to do just as Minerva had said he would. Draco knew it was hopeless arguing with Minerva; the witch sometimes had uncanny observational skills – perhaps it was the cat in her. He didn’t want anyone getting false ideas that he and Harry were anything more than friends however, so he refused to seem eager about his offered excuse to visit Harry this morning. He couldn’t deny to himself that any excuse to see Potter was a welcomed one. 

“What of my own students? As head of Slytherin, shouldn’t I be assuring my students are ready to leave likewise?” He knew what Minerva was going to say before she said it.

“Slytherins unorganised? Merlin help us the day that happens. I’m sure you will find the time to round up any Slytherin stragglers mind you … _after_ passing on my message first of course. It’s the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs that I find need the extra time to gather their wits about them. Unless Harry makes an appearance soon, I fear that there will be chaos amongst the cats this morning.”

* * *

When Harry answered his door that morning, Draco frowned in concern. Harry _was_ dressed, if you could call it that, but it looked as if he’d been dressed by a three-year-old. In fact, no! He’d seen three-year-olds dress better. It also appeared that Harry hadn’t gotten much sleep, if the redness of his half-closed eyes were anything to go by. 

“Oh, dear Merlin Potter, what are you thinking? You do realise that Halloween has long gone and that we’re now approaching Christmas?” 

“Not now Draco.” Harry pleaded, leaving the door open as he went back inside. He picked up his half mug of black coffee. “Why are you here? Minerva?” He asked, before downing the last of his caffeinated drink.

“She noticed your absence at breakfast. You do realise that you should be taming your lions, right?” Draco asked, frowning at the mess: student essays and homework left out, robes thrown over the back of the armchairs, and toast half eaten on the dining table with two empty mugs.

“I’m going! I just had a rough night.” Harry admitted, putting his empty mugs into the sink and disappearing into his bedroom.

“Minerva would like to see you when we get back from Hogsmeade.” Draco shouted so that Harry would hear him. 

“Did she say why?” Harry asked, rushing from his room as he threw on his robe. Apparently, he was ready to go.

“No.” Draco frowned at Harry again and block the door. “Potter, I cannot in good conscience let you leave this room like that.”

“What’s wrong with this. It’s what I usually wear.” Harry frowned, looking down at himself.

“You always go out with your buttons in the wrong holes.” Draco pulled at Harry’s shirt. “Your hair looks like a bird’s nest – a worse bird’s nest then it usually does anyway.” Draco wrinkled his nose at Harry’s hair before looking down at him again. “And your robe is a wrinkled mess. Not to mention that you have odd socks on and your tie is still untied.”

“I don’t have time to–” Harry cut himself off as he growled in frustration, running a hand down his face.

“Nightmares?” Draco asked. Harry just nodded. “Oh, come here Potter!” Draco ordered; it burned his eyes just looking at Harry’s state of dress. He stepped closer to the raven-haired man.

Draco didn’t know what made him do it in the first place, but he’d started now so he had to carry it through. Besides, it was like an itch to look at Harry and not fix the complete dress disaster in front of him.

He took Harry’s black tie, throwing over his own neck for the moment, and then undid the buttons on Harry’s light grey shirt. He was amazed that Harry was letting him do this, but he worked quickly and was soon fastening the buttons the correct way … before he could admire Harry’s chest or think any further about removing Harry’s shirt entirely. It was a fantasy he couldn’t afford, but as he fixed Harry’s tie into place, he couldn’t help but become increasingly aware of Harry’s breathing, of their proximity, of his own hands slowing in their work. He finished the perfect tie knot, and was about to remove his hands, when Harry caught his wrist.

Their eyes met, and Draco felt his heart beating like a bucking broom. They were so close and sharing the same air. He couldn’t tear himself away … but he had too! He had to step back, but Harry fucking Potter was staring at him questioningly with those unique and rare emerald eyes of his... and then Potter let him go.

“Thank you, Draco.” Harry said, looking down at his shoes. He had no idea what had come over him, he was fucking embarrassed, but then he remembered his socks and was grateful for the escape. “I don’t think anyone will notice my socks.” Harry smiled. He then went to step around Draco to reach the door.

“Potter!” Draco wanted to say something, but again, he had no idea what he actually wanted to say. He had a desire to see if they fit… to see if their lips slotted together the way he imagined they would. Surely Harry’s lips were as unique and addicting as the man himself was.

“Yes?” Harry turned his head, suddenly aware of coin-grey eyes on his face... on his lips. 

Draco cursed himself and blamed Potter for his current brain malfunctions. His eyes moved so that that were no longer staring at Harry’s lips… Harry still looked a mess – he had his excuse then. “You will not insult my help by leaving half way through it.” Draco said.

Draco swished his hand in circular motion, and Harry’s robes billowed until they fell straight and crease free.

“Non-verbal wandless magic?” Harry raised his brows, impressed.

“It is a spell I utilize constantly, so yes.” Draco smirked, glad that Potter wasn’t acting weird anymore. “I don’t know why you’re so impressed Potter, I seem to recall you blowing up your house.”

“It’s still impressive. That you can do _that_ spell wandlessly and not others. Does say a lot about your pompous dressing sense however.” Harry smirked.

“I can do other spells Potter.” Draco defended himself, but come to think of it… all the spells he knew wandlessly _were_ regarding one’s appearance… Damn Potter!

“Oh really? Show us then!” Harry challenged him.

“Not the time Potter, you have to go and tame your kittens!” Draco said, changing the subject.

“Right!” Harry once again tried to leave, but he turned when he felt magic weave around his head.

Draco watched as Harry felt his own black hair in surprise, he watched as the raven-haired man smirked knowingly at him. Yes, he had used a wandless spell on Harry’s hair to clean and flatten it. It wasn’t perfect, Harry’s hair would never be perfect, but it looked less like a used bird’s nest and more like a newly created one – it was bloody good spell work if he didn’t say so himself.

“Not a single word Potter!” Draco said however, when Harry continued to smirk smugly at him.

“Didn’t say a word!” Harry said, finally opening his door and walking into the corridor chuckling to himself.

Harry did however, feel almost giddy knowing that Draco had cared enough to prevent him from humiliating himself, and the ghost of fingers against his chest still lingered. He thought for moment back there, that Draco was going to kiss him… Oh, how he wished he had. 

* * *

Chaos! That’s what Harry would call it. His Gryffindor students were a force to be reckoned with that late morning. Students missing, students forgetting things, students pranking others and more interesting in chatting then packing. It was a miracle that they all made it to Hogsmeade in time to board the bloody train.

“The lion finally rounded up his cubs then?” 

“Shut it Malfoy! They’ve been fucking terrible this morning.” Harry sighed. “Mr Monero transfigured all of Miss Tennison’s hair bands into bees. Bees! The Gryffindor common room was in utter chaos.” Harry explained. “I thought they were real bees at first, until I caught Monero laughing with Miss Hardy and Mr Matthews. Mr Dominicus Dodge, that poor first year, he was hyperventilating in the wardrobe because he’s severely allergic to bee stings. Took me over twenty minutes to convince him that it was just a prank, and that the bees were all gone.” 

“I can imagine!” Draco wrinkled his nose, glad that the Slytherins had more poise. He contained his humour though – it was slightly funny but Harry looked stressed enough.

Draco watched his students hurrying to board the train, and he even used a feather-light charm to help a few of the student with their trunks. When he was sure all the Slytherins were onboard, he turned to see how Harry was getting on with the Gryffindors… he was not expecting Harry to be pointing his wand at him with a blank expression on his face.

“Potter?” Draco frowned, backing up in confusion and reaching for his own wand in defence. Harry advanced on him… then stumbled…grunted and forced his wand to lower.

“Imperius!” Harry ground out in a whisper, shaking his head as he fought off its control.

Draco’s eyes instantly searched the left-over crowd of students. He found one browned-haired student with wide eyes pointing his wand at Harry – Mr Silas Avery! Silas realised that his spell hadn’t worked, and he ran onto the train before Harry even had a chance to turn around.

“Silas!” Draco sneered, about to go after the boy.

“No wait!” Harry grabbed Draco’s arm. “Are you sure it was him?”

“I’m sure?” Draco nodded, expecting Harry to let go of him now.

“Leave him! He’s just a boy.” Harry insisted.

“He’s dangerous Potter!” Draco insisted just as firmly, yanking his arm away. If Harry hadn’t been bloody Potter and fought of the curse so easily, Harry would have attacked him. He was also fuming that Harry could have been attacked or hurt for his actions under the effects of the curse.

“If we contact the Aurors he will be locked up for life.” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear. “You know Graves will take any chance he gets to throw away the key.” Harry paused. “Let me find out if its really him that cast that spell?”

Harry smiled at the last few students now watching him and Draco with frowns. Draco caught on and did the same. Harry motioned them to hurry up before the train left without them, they were the last students left to board thankfully.

“How?” Draco whispered “He’s smart, he will have cast another spell so that you cannot reveal the last spell he cast, he will be hiding amongst the students, and the train is about to leave.”

It took Harry two seconds to think, and then, “Accio, Mr Avery’s wand.”

The train whistled loudly as a wand came speeding out of the storage carriage window, Draco couldn’t believe that it actually worked – wandlessly too, and more importantly, he couldn’t believe that Harry had actually done that. The train then started to leave the station, picking up speed until it was speeding its way towards London.

“Potter! You just stole a students wand.” Draco was fumbling to accept what Potter had just done.

“Confiscated it.” Harry corrected smoothly. “A teacher is allowed to confiscate a students wand if he or she deems in necessary for the safety of the other students.”

“But… Potter… You-”

“Relax Draco!” Harry smirked at him.

“His mother is going to be fuming Potter! Minerva isn’t going to be happy either.” 

“His mother will keep her trap shut when her options are to do just that or to see her son thrown into Azkaban.” Harry calmly explained,

“You both coming?” Neville ‘s voice reached their ears.

Harry hid the wand behind his back, as he and Draco turned to see Neville and Filius waiting for them. 

“We’ll be just behind you. Go on ahead!” Harry smiled, watching as Neville frowned, shrugged, and then left with Filius. Harry then pulled out his wand.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked.

“An extension of the reverse spell. I learnt about it at the Auror department, but it’s kept a secret so that wizards can’t hide an illegal spell by just using another one to cover it. They would just use three spells to cover the illegal one if they knew about this spell.” Harry explained before pointing his wand down at Silas’ thin, long, ebony wand and spoke the spell. “Magis prior incantato tribus!”

Harry heard Draco gasp, as three smoke created images erupted from the point where the two wands met. The first of the images, being the last spell Silas had used, showed a door where a key twisted locked and then melted away – the locking charm. The second image, a face with glazed eyes and a lost expression – the Imperius curse! The last one showed a feather with wings lifting a rock – the feather-light charm, and probably a spell Silas used earlier on his trunk.

“Deletrius!” Harry said, ending the spell and looking back up at Draco. “The evidence is now in my memory. If it comes to it, they can use a pensive, but we only get one chance to save Silas from a life in Azkaban. I want to try and convince Silas that his beliefs are wrong… I have to try!”

* * *

“I have to try Minerva!” Harry repeated. “He’s just a boy! If it doesn’t work then contact Mr Graves by all means, but you know Silas will go down for life for this. If he does, it changes nothing. Tom Riddle was failed by adults, look how that turned out. If we don’t try then Silas remains at fault with his misguided views, and he stays angry with me and people that support me. His anger could grow into something nasty, something worse!”

“Harry…” Draco hesitated. “What about your flash backs? Those memories could trigger-”

“I have to try Draco!”

“Draco is correct Harry! You can barely talk about the war as it is, watching the war will be worse.” Minerva’s expression was less stern and more concerned.

“Then Draco can view them with me!” Harry gave Draco a pleading, hopeful look.

“Harry...” Draco knew that he couldn’t say no to Harry, that the raven-haired man was determined to do this, but not only was he concern for Harry’s mental state, the memories Harry wanted to show Silas wouldn’t be great for him either. He had his own scars from the war, his own demons, and he was also wondering if something of that magnitude should even be shown to a child. Harry seemed to read his thoughts though.

“I know it won’t be easy Draco, but it’s the only way. Silas turns seventeen in January, January fourth, right?” Harry asked, Draco nodded. “He will be an adult then, but still a student. He can consent to viewing the memories, and if he doesn’t, we contact the Aurors then. Please just let me try to get through to him.”

“Very well!” Minerva finally decided, much to Draco’s horror. “I’ll arrange for it to be done on the first Friday of the new term – Friday the seventh of January, after dinner, seven-thirty.” She turned to Draco. “Have Mr Silas Avery come with you to my office then.” She then turned back to Harry. “I do hope you know what you are doing Harry.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you!”

* * *

Draco had just entered Harry’s private rooms at Hogwarts, and he took his usually seat in the left Armchair.

“Mother finalised the draft for you.” Draco said, handing Harry over the small wad of parchment. “If you agree with everything this time, then you only need to copy and sign it, and then send it into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – Family relations department.”

Harry sat down opposite Draco, and he started looking over the parchments. He had been corresponding back and forth with Narcissa through Draco for the past five weeks, and he’d learnt a lot about Draco and Narcissa’s life with Lucius. He felt sorry for them both, but he knew his sympathy wouldn’t be welcome so he never offered it.

Together, they had decided what would be the best argument to put forth for the divorce request – mainly that her husband Mr Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, had brought Voldemort into her life and held her in submission under duress. There were other reasons however, such as Lucius’ lack of sexual contact with her after Draco was conceived – unless it was to vent his frustrations in a rather aggressively sexual manner. There was also the fact that she feared for her son’s life, and the aggression Lucius often directed at her when he was angry or frustrated, or when he disagreed with her.

It was a very controlled marriage contract, and as the Lord of Black and the Lord of Malfoy at the time had overseen Narcissa’s marriage to Lucius, Harry had to claim that a breach had occurred as the new Lord of Black. There were certainly many breaches, including ‘love and honour thy wife’, ‘keep from harm’, and Harry’s personal favourite, ‘the alliance between families Malfoy and Black will hereby grow stronger with the matrimony…’ 

“It looks to be in order. I’ll read it over later and start the copy. Is your mother doing okay?” Harry asked, being polite. A part of him kept whispering that Narcissa could become something of a mother in law to him if Draco didn’t kill him first for being Padfoot. Draco still hadn’t asked Padfoot to meet, and Harry was a nervous wreck every time he received a new message on the Le’Amortentia parchment.

“Thank you, Harry, and Mother is doing well. She is most grateful that you are doing this for her.” Draco said.

“I’m happy to. Do you have the Malfoy vault records by any chance; we’ll need them to prove that Narcissa didn’t receive her thirty percent?” Harry asked, suddenly remembering.

“Its at the back.” Draco pointed to the parchments he’d just given Harry.

“That’s good. Seems like everything is in order.” Harry stood up. “Fancy a coffee?”

“Black, with a shot of whiskey if you have any left.”

Harry raised his eyebrows.

“I’m still reeling from what Silas did. I can’t believe–” Draco shook his head, unable to finished his own sentence. There was a cold wind of uncertainty regarding Mr Avery that he didn’t like leaving unchecked. The boy was corrupted, ignorant, and dangerous with his opinions and beliefs. Draco hoped that Harry could get through to the boy, but he was worried. 

“We’ll deal with it after Christmas.” Harry said, waiting for the water to boil.

“You can change your mind you know; you don’t have to do this.” Draco was still concerned that Harry would have flash backs. He’d come to care a great deal about Harry.

“I know! But I have to.” Harry nodded to assure himself that he could do this. He wasn’t looking forward to seeing his memories of the war, but if he could save a teenager from a life in prison… he had to try.

“Do you know what memories you’re going to use?” Draco asked.

“I have an idea. I’ll think about it over the holidays and make a list. Don’t worry about it now Draco.” Harry fixed together the coffees and returned to the armchair opposite Draco.

“If you’re sure about this then… I was thinking about adding some of mine.” Draco looked up at Harry. “My memories that is. I saw him … torture and … kill his followers, others too, but if … if…” Draco took a deep breath and exhaled. “If it helps then you’re right, it will be worth it.” Draco closed his eyes.

Harry saw Draco’s pain, felt it even. He knew his comfort wouldn’t be welcome, it was a matter of pride mostly, but his heart ached to help Draco through that pain as Draco was helping him.

“Kreacher!” Harry called.

Pop! “Master Potter be calling?” Kreacher bowed. 

“I think we’re going to need another bottle of whiskey please.” Harry asked, smiling at Draco when Kreacher bowed again and left. “You still up for going shopping with me tomorrow?” Harry asked.

Draco smiled; he knew what Harry was doing and that was okay by him. Harry knew what he needed – not sympathy, not pity, not even comfort and false promises, but a friend that could just be there to listen and distract him from the pain. He could feel his pain in fragments, remember his past in small pieces, and then count on Harry to take him away from it all when it became too much. 

“Of course, I wouldn’t have agreed otherwise.” Draco smirked. “As long as let me buy you a decent outfit Potter! Call it a Christmas gift if you like, but I refuse to be seen with you Christmas day if you insist on wearing those rags!”

“Rags?” Harry feigned outrage. He knew Draco was teasing him, and he loved it. “I brought these in a respectable shop I’ll have you know.”

“Mabilia’s second hand robes?” Draco deadpanned. 

Draco ducked when Harry sent a charmed parchment bird at his head. Draco laughed, grabbing his own wand to retaliate, and as Harry ducked out of the way of the dancing jinx he smiled. The smile that the blond wore was one that Harry hoped he would see more of. That smile was Christmas come early, everything Harry would ever need, and as light as air.

Harry Potter was no longer falling…. He was soaring on the winds of love and he hoped that Draco felt the same about him. Right now, however, he had a Slytherin to beat in a friendly wand duel. 


	14. Concealed truths

' _The cold winds were determined, he'd give mother nature that,'_ Harry thought, as he utilized yet another warming charm. Draco and himself, both masked under glamour charms to hide their appearance, knew that Diagon Alley would be packed, but it was brutally chaotic!

"Discourteous, uncouth prats!" Draco sneered as he was bumped into for the hundredth time. He would have been granted a wide berth had his appearance remained the one he had been born with, but it wasn't worth the verbal and physical abuse an ex-Death Eater would be subjected too. Yes, he would have been avoided by most, in fear and disgust, but those that felt justice had not met…

"I'm almost finished here Draco." Harry tried to contain his mirth, unaware of Draco's darkening thoughts. "I just need to pick up Teddy's; I promised Andromeda I'd buy him a new broom."

"Broom?" Asked Draco, his frown framing blue eyes – strange against that foreign complexion, shortened chin, and dark brown hair. "Is he hoping to make the team then?"

They weaved through the crowds of excited, last minute Christmas shoppers as they walked back up the hill to Quality Quidditch Supplies. Chatter, laughter, merchants calling out deals, and frenzied parents running after excited children... all ambient for the week leading up to Christmas.

Draco glared at anyone that dared to come too close to them – the man didn't mind crowds per se, but he hated being touched and knocked into. Harry was in the same frame of mind actually, but he had more tolerance for rambunctious crowds when they didn't know his real identity… Yes, they'd never get anything done if they knew their ' _hero'_ was among them.

"Yeah," nodded Harry, "he wants to try out for the chaser position that will open up after the summer. Mylo Yarwood is a seventh year so he won't be here next year."

They passed a crowd of rosy-cheeked children, pressed up close against the windows of 'Weasley's Wizard Wheezes' with their gloved covered hands. Their innocent faces stared longingly at the brightly animated products on display in the charmed windows - charmed to snow over the various merchandise within, where the assortment of goods popped, cracked, flashed, bounced, and shrieked. Harry smiled at the ooh's' and 'wow's' and other exclamations of amazement and wonder, but his smile turned sombre as he remembered Fred…

George and Angelina had worked hard to maintain the Wesley business, and it was blooming… literally. They'd stopped in earlier to wish them both a Merry Christmas, and they'd brought a few things for the older Weasley children there too.

"Why not buy it for his birthday then…" Draco's voice tore Harry away from his thoughts, "wasn't he born in April?"

"He was, yeah…" Harry paused as he heard the shrill voice of a frazzled mother, demanding her son come away from the window as they had lots to get done, "…but he wants to practice. Hufflepuff have some great players this year…" Harry had to pause again, to let a herd of giggling girls pass by with their Christmas shopping. He found himself pressed up close to a warm body… Draco's body – unchanged, unlike his glamoured facial features. Draco's hand gripped his shoulder as the man glared at the 'impertinent' females.

Harry's heart wilted as he moved away from the man to continue on up the hill – he really had fallen hopeless in love with Draco Malfoy.

"You were saying?" Draco drawled, still bitter that their conversation had been rudely interrupted. Harry was so jubilant and joyous today despite the crowds, and even though the man hadn't stopped talking up a storm, he rather enjoyed listening to him; It was good to see Harry so frivolous, instead of over worked and stressed. "About Teddy, and that Hufflepuff have good players this year."

"Ah, right, yeah… erm … he's worried that he won't be good enough to get in. Andromeda only had enough to buy him a second-hand broom, so he only has his Nimbus 2000."

"Does he no longer feel the Nimbus 2000 to be satisfactory?" Draco was curious about his cousin – well, first cousin once removed – and he had yet to really speak to Andromeda beyond letters.

"He loves that broom!" Harry exclaimed, defensively. Draco made a note that Harry's relationship with Teddy was obviously close. "He doesn't know I'm getting him a new one," Harry continued, "but the Nimbus modules have been out dated by the Firebolts and the Volant series. You know that."

"Ah, I see." Draco nodded… yes, he did indeed know that. It made sense now that he thought about it; many Brooms _had_ been released since the Nimbus 2000 was made in 1991. _Had it already been nearly twenty years since then?_

When they reached Quality Quidditch Supplies, Draco opened the door for Harry. The festive wreath rocked as the door moved, and Harry thanked Draco before walking into the warmth of the store. It wasn't the changed in temperature that heated his cheeks though, but the gesture of Draco getting yet another door for him today. He wondered if Draco even realised that he was doing it.

"Teddy never asks for anything," Harry elaborated, "he's a good kid, and he understands that Andromeda only has so much money." They approached the desk to join the queue – only one person in front of them, a blond-haired lady in a fur coat just concluding her sale with the cashier. They were lucky, the shop seemed to be rather full with shoppers.

"He'd never ask for something so expensive," Harry continued, "but we know he'd love to have one from the Volant series. He stares at the models in the windows and talks passionately about them. We thought about getting him a Firebolt or an earlier Volant model, but he deserves a Volant 360 and the latest model will last him longer. I know he'll take good care of it – he does with his Nimbus, and It's not like I can't afford it. We don't usually spend so much on him, but this year Andy gave me the go ahead."

"Volant brooms?" The young male shop assistant asked them when it was their turn to be served. He looked uneasy, and he'd obviously overheard Harry mentioning them.

"Yeah, I placed an order a few weeks back," Harry explained as he moved closed to the checkout, "I've come to collect it if that's okay. It's under the name Teddy Tonks."

"Oh, thank Merlin," the shop assistant visibly relaxed. "You have no idea how many customers I've had to turn away today. All our brooms are out of stock." He pulled out a thick leather book, red, and flipped through the pages. "We only have the brooms that have been pre-ordered left." He flipped another page, running his finger over the names, "Teddy you say? Tonks?"

"Yes, that's right." Harry nodded.

"AH! Here it is!" The young man exclaimed, joyfully; his shoulder-length brown hair flicked back as he lifted his head. "I'll be right back."

Draco couldn't help but smile as he watched Harry; the 'golden boy' rocked on the balls of his feet, smiling happily back at him before browsing the store with his glamoured brown eyes as they waited. His feelings … what were they? Festive contagions simply snaring him up into the wave of sentimentality? A growing fondness? Affection? Endearment? Salazar! He couldn't afford to fall for Potter! No, he could never be with the man that England loved and worshiped and he had Padfoot regardless. He would just have to be aware, deny and refuse to let his feeling grow deeper then that of friendship, and focus on his smitten feelings for Padfoot.

* * *

They left the Quidditch shop about twenty minutes later with a new broom, gloves, and a broom care kit. Harry shivered as they stepped into the cold, and Draco reapplied their warming charms.

"Thanks," Harry smiled shyly, quickly continuing on, "right, the last stop is a muggle store called Argos. I need to get Arthur's gift."

"Muggle store?" Draco asked with a deep frown, ignoring Harry's reaction to his magic.

"Yes, he enjoys all things muggles. I thought I'd get him a battery-operated light this year, Oh, and see if I can find him an education book on something muggle related. He already has books on electricity, muggle transport, aeroplanes, appliances, plumbing, and locking mechanism if I remember correctly. Oh, and he has books on famous muggle inventors, and lighting." Harry rambled.

"You completely lost me at battery and ektricity." Draco said, bemused.

It was obvious to Draco, just how much joy it gave Harry to buy gifts for his family and friends. At one point in Draco's life, this would have been an inconceivable concept… giving for the sake of giving and nothing more… but since the war, he had come to appreciate the gesture. It made him wonder, again, if Harry would appreciate the gift that he'd brought from him, a small gift that lay in his desk draw back at Hogwarts. He hoped that it wasn't too personal, hoped that it wouldn't give of the wrong message.

"Come on!" Harry laughed. "I'll show you. Just transfigure your robe into a coat, your trousers and shirt are fine in the muggle world."

Harry took Draco's hand and pulled him toward the brick-wall – a magical wall that would take them back though the Leaky Cauldron and into muggle London. Harry planned to send his current purchases home with Kreacher once they'd entered the pub.

If Draco's heart rate sped up, if his breath hitched and stomach flipped at the contact of Harry hand … he ignored it.

* * *

Draco kept frowning down at his dark navy-blue jacket that Harry had transfigured for him in the end, seeing as Draco kept going for trench coats that still resembled robes far too much. Draco was hesitant to admit it, but he rather liked it. Harry claimed that he wore too much black, and honestly… he rather liked the dark blue.

A random desire to wear some colour took him by surprise, he always wore black, white or grey, but he found himself wishing to please Harry. What on earth did that say about his loyalty to Padfoot, wanting to bring a smile to another man's lips … but surely… perhaps… it wouldn't hurt to appease Harry's desire to see him in blue… or any colour out of the normal for him? It was just his choice of apparel; it wasn't like he was choosing to date the man.

"He we are!" Harry exclaimed, making Draco jump. He _had_ visited muggle towns since the war, for curiosities sake, but not enough to grow accustomed to the vehicles and unusual noises. A kid on a skateboard had nearly scared the magic out of him a while ago, speeding past within half an inch of his life, and jumping down the drop curb with a bang.

"Thank Salazar,"Draco sighed, looking up at the blue top section with red letters forming the word 'Argos'.

Draco watched as Harry flipped through a catalogue, chose what he wanted, and went to the queue to pay. Draco couldn't contain his curiosity, he lingered by the catalogues and scanned through all the goods for sale with a bemused interested; Televisions, cameras, phones, headphones, microwaves, vacuum cleaners, fridge freezers, toasters, mixers, blenders, bedding, furniture, lighting, tableware… and then some. He knew what bedding and furniture and tableware was, but… a toilet seat that had multicoloured lights? Wonders never ceased!

"Just have to wait a while for my order to come down." Harry's voice made Draco jump.

Draco looked back down at the catalogue. "Explain to me, why do…" His lips brushed Harry's ear as he whispered, making Harry shiver, "…muggles have multicoloured toilet seats?" He pointed to the image.

Harry laughed out loud, "It's novelty, not so much for practicality but for… decoration, I guess. I guess some people just like their…" It was Harry's turn to whisper, "their genitals to change colour while they… you know." Harry tried to stifle his mirth so that they didn't draw attention to themselves, but Draco's face didn't make it easy. The glamoured blue eyes that looked at him were squinted in disgust, and a wrinkled noes told Harry Draco's opinion on the item. "It probably makes their bathroom look cool too." He shrugged as he chuckled.

* * *

Draco had taken a free catalogue from Argos, and he was still turning the pages in curiosity as they walked through London looking for a book store. Harry couldn't help but smile each time Draco asked another question.

"What is solar lightning?" Draco asked as they entered a large book store - Foyles.

"Erm, it is like… Okay, remember what I said about batteries?" Harry asked, looking for a section on technology or human advancement. The store was huge, multi levelled, and dazzled up with festive decorations like everywhere else.

"That they store power somehow?" Draco asked, not understanding how the muggles had managed to do that. He walked into the back of Harry as the man suddenly stopped in front of what looked like metal doors.

"Erm, yeah." Harry frowned in though of how best to explain. "They hold a certain amount of power… like energy. Once it runs out, the battery is useless. Well some batteries can actually be re-charged, which means that… you can fill them with energy again."

Ding!

Those metal doors opened of their own, making Draco jump. Harry walked inside the strange metal box… did he expect him to follow?

"Come on. It's just an elevator. It takes us upstairs." Harry explained, smirking as Draco slowly entered to lift. Harry took his finger off the hold door button, pressed for level three, and went silent as the doors closed.

Draco gasped as the lift moved upwards, but he also noticed how Harry's hands fidgeted, how quiet he had become. "Is it safe?" He asked.

"Yeah! Yeah, it's perfectly safe," Harry said, "We'll be there in a sec."

"Why are you so nervous if it is so safe?" Draco asked.

"I just don't like closed spaces much." Harry said no more on the subject, the lifted 'dinged', the doors opened and Harry sped out and into the non-fiction section of the library.

Draco filed it away in the 'strange things about Harry' section of his mind for later. He knew a lot about Harry – his favourite foods and drinks, his hobbies, his sleeping habits, his tendency to skip meals, the way he rubbed at the back of his neck when embarrassed, and the way he bit the left side of his lip when thinking… but he hadn't known that Harry was claustrophobic. Well, that begged the question… why hadn't they just taken the stairs?

Draco followed Harry, the question regarding solar lightning forgotten, and he watched as Harry browsed the books. He wanted to ask Harry about the elevator, ask him why he didn't take the stairs and instead choose to put himself in an uncomfortable position, but he didn't feel right about asking him here – it wasn't the time or place.

Harry eventually picked up a book that he seemed to like – 'Medicine today', Draco read on the spine. "What's that?" He asked, deciding to forget about the elevator for now.

"It educates the reader on the advancement of medical related tools and practices. Like this," Harry turned the book for Draco to see, "this is what they used to do in the middle ages." Harry pointed to the section that explained the process of cauterization – how they would burn a wound to prevent bleeding and infection.

"That's barbaric Potter!" Draco squealed. "Muggles did that?"

"Shh! And yes. They don't have magic to utilize, so they did what they had to do to stay alive." Harry turned the page where it explained the modern-day practice. "This is what we do now."

Draco hesitated, but he took the book and read on. It wasn't _as_ bad, but then he read the part about stitches and blanched in horror. "They sew people up?"

"It's not that bad Draco, even I've had stitches." Harry chuckled.

"Tell me you're joking Potter!" Draco shuddered.

"Nope. I was…" Harry hesitated, deciding a lie by omission couldn't hurt. "When I was eight, I fell over at school. I was outside, my leg scraped across the steps I was climbing up. The school had to call an ambulance to take me to hospital. I ended up needing four stitches in my left shin, just below my knee. The cut was really deep." Harry finished his story and images of what actually happened flashed into his mind…

" _Freak!" Dudley yelled, waddling up behind him as he climbed the three concern stairs to the play ground level of his primary school._

_He tried to hurry, to run away from Dudley and his two vicious friends, run, quick, get away… but he hadn't heard them approach him, and they were too close now. He was shoved, forcefully with the force of a small whale, and he fell as he went to take the last step at a hurry._

_His shin scraped painfully against the jagged edge of the concrete top step, cutting into his skin and ripping his school uniform. OH! Oh no… Aunt Petunia would be so cross with him for ripping his second-hand, bagging, hand-me-down trousers._

_He was about to yell at Dudley, not that it would have helped, but then a foot collided with his stomach and he toppled down the three concrete steps._

" _TEACH!" One of Dudley's friends suddenly yelled. They hurried off and left him there silently crying._

"…ry, Harry?" Draco knew that Harry was in one of his mind hazy episodes, but it worried him. What had trigger it this time? Was he just remembering having his leg sewed up? Could it be that 'stitches' were, despite what Harry said, just as horrible as he assumed?

"Sorry Draco, I – I think I'll just get this book for Arthur." Harry said, not wanting to talk about the place his mind had just taken him too. He hurried back to the elevators, tapped the book as he waited for the 'ding', and fidgeted again as they went down.

"Listen Harry, I don't want to pry, but… _are_ you alright?" Draco asked.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm fine." Harry nodded, giving Draco a small smile.

Draco decided to drop the subject for now, Harry obviously didn't want to talk about it, but something was troubling the man. It was another thing to file away in his mind.

Silence feel between them, the Christmas music quietly resumed playing in the background of the book shop as they exited the elevator. They made their way to the queue so Harry could pay for Arthur's gift, and the customers talked as they proceeded to brows the thousands of books on sale, but Harry couldn't help but remember the way his Aunt had sent him to his cupboard when they got home…

Petunia had screeched at him for being so clumsy, because of course, he would have been in worse trouble had he accused Dudley of shoving him. She had only shoved a slice of dry bread at him that evening, a toddler sized cup of water because he walked and behaved liked one, and apart from a single trip to the bathroom before she went up to bed, he was in there until the morning when he had to go to school again.

* * *

"How many Weasley's are there?" Draco asked, blinking in disbelief when Harry panicked that he'd forgotten the baby. "What baby?"

"Ginny's baby! Oh Merlin, she'll kill me if I forget Kaison!"

"Harry calm down!" Draco told him. They had just got back to the Harry's private rooms at Hogwarts with all the shopping. "It's only the 22nd, we can go and get something tomorrow."

"I'm on hall duty tomorrow!" Harry paced the room. "Fuck!"

Draco grabbed Harry's arms to stop him from wearing a hole in the carpet, and suddenly he was facing desperate, pleading green eyes. Without the glamours … fuck! Why the fuck did Potter have such attractive eyes!

"Potter, listen. Have a coffee, a whiskey for Merlin's sake! And calm the fuck down! You're a Gryffindor with Slytherin traits for Salazar's sake!" Draco was practically shaking Harry by this point, perhaps annoyed that Potter was getting under his skin and into his heart, but he let go of Harry's arms before he hurt the man. "Just … just sit down and think. Check you haven't missed anyone else and … If Minerva can't let you rush out to buy what you need tomorrow, then … I'll go for you if you're amenable to that. I don't think I have any duties beyond being available for any student that need my assistance… I'm sure I can deflect them to you for a few hours."

Harry eventually slumped into one of the armchairs. "You'd do that for me? You'd go into Diagon Alley and buy a _baby_ gift?"

"You're the one that keeps insisting that friends help each other out… Unless you wish to demote said friendship to simply colleagues I–"

"Fuck no!" Harry blurted out just before a blush darkened his cheeks, "I mean, of course not!"

Draco almost sighed in relief; his feelings for Harry were like weeds, ruthless and persistent, unwanted and difficult to eradicate, they would only strangle Harry: Harry deserved better, and he would remain loyal to Padfoot… Padfoot! Perhaps it would be wise to ask Padfoot to meet him… if his feelings for the mystery man could indeed be true for the real man behind the parchment, then … perhaps his relentless growing feelings for Harry would abate, cease. It would also stop whatever ridiculous feelings Harry had started to develop for him, because Merlin… Harry's reaction to revoking their friendship had been almost passionately decisive, fearful even.

"Draco?" Harry was standing in front of him … When had he stood up? "Draco, don't be an arse, I, fuck!"

Draco watched as Harry removed his glasses and rubbed the space between his eyes. What was going through that mind of his?

"If you'll help me check I have everyone's gifts except Kaison's," said Harry, "I'd really appreciate it. And … if you would pick up something for me tomorrow, I'd owe you one."

Harry said nothing else, he simple walked over to the small kitchenette, and with wandless magic he started boiling some water for the coffee.

"I can do that." Draco nodded. He was glad that Harry had moved on with the conversation, that he'd calmed down and accepted his help, but what was left unsaid was like the dragon in the room; it was unmissable, hot and blazing for notice, and it wouldn't be easily removed.

They had shared an entire day in each other's company, and Salazar … their companionship had been easy, right, and radiant. Harry never judged him, never accused him, never reminded him of the errors of his past… they had just enjoyed each other's presence. Draco couldn't remember the last time he had felt so at peace in anyone's company, he'd almost forgotten who he was – Draco Malfoy, an ex-Death Eater!

"Are you okay, Draco?" Harry suddenly asked.

"Yes, Potter." His answer was a little snappish. Harry raised his eyebrows at the irritated way he'd responded, handing him a cup of coffee all the same. "Thank-you Harry," he amended, "well, you best get some parchment and make that list then. The Weasley's breed like rabbits, I'm surprised you only forgot _one_ gift to be honest."

Harry chuckled; he knew exactly what that translated to: Let's change the subject because this is getting awkward, but I am impressed that you can even remember all of your adoptive family members.

* * *

"Twenty-three?" Draco repeated, "Twenty-three?"

"Yes Draco, there are now twenty-three members of my adoptive family." Harry chuckled, "remind me not to try and do all the Weasley's in one day next year."

"Bloody hell Potter, how do you keep up?" Draco shook his head, sipped at his coffee and handed the list back to Harry. "Never mind. What do you wish me to pick up for Kaison tomorrow?"

"I think Bouncing Bantlings have a few quidditch themed baby toys. I remember seeing wooden blocks with moving images of snitches and brooms and the like." Harry paused to think, "I'd avoid clothes, I think Kaison has enough to last him five years. A few books wouldn't hurt, but remember, he is only thirteen-months old."

"So, wooden quidditch blocks, and books for a one-year old?" Draco confirmed.

"Mm hmm," Harry agreed through the last of his coffee. "If you see something else that you think is good then grab that too … you sure this is okay though Draco? I'm sure that–"

"It's fine! I think I can handle a few baby gifts."

"Well, if you're unsure, just ask the shop assistant for help. It might be a good idea to check that everything you pick up is suitable for a thirteen-month old baby regardless… just to be safe you know, and it will be fine if it's for an eighteen-month-old even, he can grow into it, but don't–"

"Potter! You're rambling." Draco interrupted him. "I know what I'm doing."

"Right!" Harry chuckled bashfully, rubbing at the back of his reddening neck.

Draco found himself watching the skin on Harry's neck flush in embarrassment, and his lips tingled with a sudden desire to press into it, to taste and mould into that neck. He wanted it, wanted to do it, but it would be a _terrible_ idea. He had to get out of here to clear his head because… fuck! Potter was beginning to look like a dancing bar of luxurious chocolate, and his heart was in need of a serious scolding for its preposterous behaviour today.

"I best get going Harry," Draco announce as he stood up, "I'll visit Diagon Alley in the morning and catch up with you when I get back."

"Oh, okay then." Harry nodded, but Draco heard the disappointment in his voice. It _was_ only about six o'clock, and he usually stuck around until later in the evening if they weren't overloaded with homework to grade.

"It's about six o'clock Harry, Minerva will wonder where we are if we don't turn up for dinner."

"She gave as the day off remember; I doubt she's expecting us to turn up now." Harry smiled, but he looked away. He wanted to say something…

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow." Draco said, making his way to the door to let himself out.

"Draco!" Harry called to him, catching him in the door way and grabbing his wrist to turn him around. "Why don't you eat here, I'll get Kreacher to–"

"Don't Potter!" Draco pulled back his wrist. "Don't ruin what we have!" His eyes pleaded as they met Harry's begging green ones. "Don't! Nothing can happen between us… I have Padfoot, and you're–"

"What if Padfoot wasn't … what if he didn't exist?" Harry asked.

Screaming, kicking, and blazing with an inferno of obvious, were the words that neither dared speak. The troll in the room, the lump in their throats, the heart beats almost loud enough to hear…

"I-I don't, I don't know Harry." Draco cursed himself for the stutter. "It doesn't matter regardless, because he _does_ exist." Silence… Green eyes that glossed over. "Don't Potter, just don't!"

"Right." Harry nodded, noticing the growing sting of his eyes.

"I'll see you tomorrow." Draco said as moved into the corridor, he turned to say something else but…

"Goodnight Draco."

…and before Draco could respond, Harry had shut the door.

Harry knew he was being ludicrous, Padfoot and himself were the same fucking person, but … he couldn't lie to himself – he'd wanted Draco to choose him, the real him. What was worse, he knew Draco would kill him for not be honest sooner, fuck! What had he done? Draco was infatuated with Padfoot, and he'd rejected him – Harry.

He had to come clean, and soon! It wasn't fair on Draco to believe in a man that didn't exist, and it would be less painful for himself to know where he stood after the truth came out. If Draco didn't asked Padfoot to meet him over Christmas, he would ask him himself in the New Year.


	15. Christmas gifts

That morning haze – and blindness – of waking up, made Harry groan as he patted his hand over to the bedside table in search of his glasses. Thump! He lifting his face from the pillow to see what he’d knocked onto the floor in his blind search, but the light from the arched window was forcing his eyes to scrunch tightly closed, and as things were blurry anyway without his glasses, he continued to find his spectacles first.

As his eyes finally adapted to the morning rays that streamed through the window, golden and intrusive, he saw what he’d knocked off his bedside table a moment ago – the Le’Amortentia parchment and quill. Tau-Draco, had already sent him a message that morning: 

**_Merry Christmas Mon Chéri,_ **

**_Shrouded in darkness, the cold still of night,  
Come hither the sunrise, enfold you in light.  
Go on forth Mon Chéri, the rebirth of dawn,  
Merry yuletides amour, the year will adorn._ **

**_Seeing as I couldn’t send you a gift, I decided to great with a poem._ **

**_Tau. x_ **

“Ahh, damn it!” Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.

The bloody, blond-haired git had been declaring his very amorous feeling rather full-on over the last two days, or at least, strongly implying that he felt that was for _Padfoot_. It was immensely obvious what Draco was doing – avoiding Harry and investing all his time in Padfoot, obviously hoping to speed into ‘something’ with Padfoot, so that he may avoid feelings for him – Harry ... or have an excuse to avoid and reject him at least.

Yes, Draco had talked, or in this case, written his ears off last night. He’d already heard all about wizarding traditions – yuletide and winter solstice, seeing as Draco had educated him about it until the early hours of the morning. He knew exactly what that poem meant:

The winter solstice – the longest night, which was a few days ago, would now give way to light as the days grew longer once again. Draco was blessing him, expressing his desire for him, Padfoot, to be wrapped in light, in his arms, and have a fruitful year. He alluded to the new year, using the French word for love, and implying that with the coming year Padfoot would only grow more beautiful.

Merlin, who knew Draco could be such a sap? It was all rather confusing, and the mess he had landed himself… Well, not really knowing what to say, he quickly settled on sending a short message and Christmas greeting, before darting into his bathroom:

**_Good morning Tau,  
Thank-you for the poem. I’m afraid I have no skills in poetry to return the thoughtful gesture, but I do, sincerely wish you a very Merry Christmas, and Happy Yule tidings likewise.  
Padfoot x_ **

Hopefully, it would be enough. He had no desire to be cold with the man, but he had been more reserved and careful with his words. It was the constant whisper of _‘Padfoot isn’t real’_ , and _‘you’re leading him on’_ , that made him less than enthusiastic to write sweet nothings in return. There was also his desire to start distancing himself; if he expected Draco to reject him once he knew the truth, then he would not be so hurt when it actually happened… well, that was the theory at least. If truth be told, he was also feeling bad, and the idea of losing Draco was already casting grey rain clouds over him. 

As for Draco, well, he had helped Harry out with Kaison’s gift as promised, but he hadn’t been spending as much time in Harry’s company. He stayed for maybe half an hour when he returned from Diagon Alley on Thursday – checking that Harry was reassured in his ability to buy gifts for a baby, and yesterday they’d had coffee half an hour before attending the Great Hall for dinner together. After dinner, Draco had gone back to his own rooms, only to spend the rest of the evening writing to Padfoot.

As Harry washed his hands in the bathroom sink, he continued to think about the mess he had landed himself in. It had become so difficult writing to Tau as Padfoot, knowing that Draco had rejected him as Harry, but that he was grasping so tightly to his illusion of Padfoot… an illusion that he – Harry, was soon to destroy… and perhaps, along with their friendship too.

Harry had finished washing, and had just started brushing his teeth, when…

Knock, Knock, Knock!

Harry’s head flew up to face his bathroom door, hand pausing with the toothbrush, wondering who was knocking at… _‘What time is it anyway?’_ He wondered. 

“Potter?” An elegant, flawless voice called through his room. Draco!

That was the other thing, Draco was using his surname more often again… but fuck! Why was he concerned about names when he was in his underwear in the bathroom brushing his teeth, and Draco had let himself into Harry’s private rooms?

“I’ll be right out!” Said Harry, around a mouth full of toothbrush and toothpaste, and then started to panic when he realised, he’d left his wand on the bed – forgetting it in his need for the loo and his deep thoughts, and he hadn’t prepared his clothes for the day either. He would have used a wandless summoning charm, but without knowing what clothes he wanted specifically, there was no guarantee that he would summon suitable clothes.

After finishing with his teeth, he wrapped a towel around his waist and blushed before he’d even left his bathroom; he wasn’t a prude, but there was something embarrassing about an unrequited love interest seeing you almost naked.

He had planned to make a quick, but elegant, rush to his bedroom, but he’d almost tripped as he caught Draco standing there in his living-room, taking in the sight and gawping at him. He smiled shyly, “I’ll just… Give me five minutes,” he stuttered, and ducked his head as he disappeared into his bedroom.

Fuck! His conflicting emotions were whirling. He was a little angry that Draco had just walked in… and hadn’t he locked his door last night? He wanted to shout at Draco to piss off, to express his vexation regarding Draco’s lack of common courtesy – you didn’t just let yourself into someone else’s private rooms when the door was locked! Yet, despite his embarrassment, the man he had come to love – even if it was unrequited, was comfortable enough to take such liberties – what did that mean? If only Draco was here for other reasons though… actually, why was he here? It _was_ Christmas morning, maybe Minerva had sent him to be fetched for breakfast. 

Outside the bedroom, Draco had taken a moment to pull himself together – Harry’s body was littered with scars but… Salazar, what a body! There wasn’t an ounce of fat it seemed, all firm and… perfectly delectable. He gulped. Taut skin, firm muscles, messy hair, and… Wow! He’d be lying to himself if he denied it, but Harry was sexually attractive! 

Taking a deep breath, he decided to make coffee for Harry and himself, it would keep his hands busy. The owls he’d let in, were currently sitting on the back of the two wooden, dining room chairs. “You have owls,” Draco called out, “parcels. They were waiting for you in the hallway.” Draco was proud of his ability to _act_ normal and nonchalant, even if he was desperately trying to chase away his growing feeling for the raven-haired Gryffindor – feelings that were still like weeds, weeds that refused to die no matter how much herbicide he used.

“Right,” Harry called back from the bedroom, “I’ll be out in minute!” Harry quickly proceeded to search for suitable clothes. _‘Perhaps a dark green t-shirt,’_ he thought, pulling one out of the draws to join the black jeans now laid out on his bed … it was Christmas after all, and Molly would have sent him another knitted jumper. 

“Minerva sent me to fetch you,” Draco continued, “something along the lines of, ‘Mr Potter will not be avoiding meals today!’” 

“Right,” repeated Harry.

Draco had just finished the coffees when Harry finally appeared – noting how good Harry looked in green... they really highlighted his eyes! And the jeans were tight around his arse… Damn! 

“Erm, Merry Christmas Draco!” Harry smiled, taking the offered coffee before going to the table to address the owls.

“Merry Christmas Harry!” Draco said, following him to the dinning table. 

* * *

“Are you not going to open the others?” Draco asked. He’d watched as Harry opened the letters, and only one of the Christmas gifts that turned out be a rather nice, knitted green jumper. Harry had slipped into the jumper immediately, abandoned the other presents, and asked it they should get going to the Great Hall then.

“I thought Minerva ordered my presence?” Harry frowned.

“Indeed she did, but there is time to open your gifts first… or are you embarrassed about your mediocre Christmas presents.” Draco smirked, purposely eyeing the green jumper Harry wore.

“Hey! This is from Molly. She always makes one for me, and I happen to think this has much more value then something meaningless and expensive.”

Yes, Draco had to concede. His mother had sent him an expensive robe that was more then suitable for potion masters to wear; it had charms to protect him against potion mishaps and fumes, and it was protected against staining – easy to clean. He was very grateful, and it did have an element of thought, but every year she gave him either that or dress robes. He wouldn’t mind something unexpected and … dare he say it… something more sentimental.

“If you say so Potter.” Draco smirked instead. He eyed Harry’s presents again, noting that, considering Harry had a huge number of friends and fans - and of course the Weasley’s as his claimed family, he didn’t have many gifts. “Do the redheads not send you gifts, or your fans?”

Harry sighed and sat back down. “My _fans_ don’t really send gifts, and if they do, or if they send cards, they get redirected to Gringotts. As for the Weasleys, Molly’s letter was apologetic but the owls were worked into exhaustion this year and Ruffles, their family owl, couldn’t be expected to carry them all on his own so she just sent the jumper and mince pies along with the cards. Ron’s owl, Pigwidgeon, couldn’t carry the gifts on his own either, and he’s a bit clumsy.” Harry sighed again. “I really don’t know why they can’t just say the jumper and the mince pies are from the whole family, I really don’t need gifts from everyone separately.”

“Who are these from then?” Draco asked, pointing to the gifts on the table.

“The staff; Minerva, Hagrid, Neville and Hannah, and Filius always gets me something.” Harry shook his head, like he just didn’t understand why they would bother.

“Open them then Potter,” Draco picked one up and handed it to him, “It would be rude not to thank them for the gifts when we get to breakfast!”

Harry sighed again, but he gave in realising that Draco was right. I would come across as ungrateful if he had to admit that he hadn’t bothered to open his gifts yet. Minerva had gifted him Scottish shortbread biscuits: Hagrid’s, was a book on magical creatures and how they assisted witches and wizards in their jobs or daily lives: Neville and his wife had sent along another bottle of Firewhiskey, one they Neville had used his herbology skills to adapt into their own brand: Filius, had sent along the usually charmed socks – they kept his feet rather toasty, and they had been a regular gift since Harry had complained, a few years ago, that his feet were always so bloody cold.

“Like I said Potter,” Draco commented, “very mediocre. Well at least my gift should make up for the pitfalls of the other staff.” 

“Your gift?” Harry had started to blush in his neck again, he could feel it, but he chose to ignore it. 

Draco pointed to a small box, wrapped in red and green stained paper – it currently sat on the coffee table between the two armchairs across the room. Draco had planned on just leaving it there for Harry to find, planning on feigning indifference and passing it off as unimportant – just a gift, nothing more. Harry obviously hadn’t noticed, but Draco had an unexpected desire to point it out just then.

“Yes. I remembered these from my stay in France,” Draco explained as Harry went to fetch it, “and I ordered you one. I do hope you don’t take it the wrong way, but if you don’t appreciate it or it offends you, I’d rather you just say so and I’ll send it back.”

Draco held his mask firmly in place, he didn’t want Harry to know what he was feeling… his desperate hope that Harry _did_ appreciate the gift was creating such an embarrassing chant in his mind – _‘Please like it, please, please like…’_

Harry looked back over to see that Draco look pale with nerves as he watched him holding the gift. The slight movements the blond man made, made Harry believe he was forcing himself not to fidget. Harry was very curious to what Draco could have gotten him from France, but the fact that Draco was so nervous… well, it made him slightly nervous too.

Harry held the gift in his hands – still unopened, remembering his own gift that he’d brought for Draco. He felt a slight wash of anxiety… what if Draco hated his gift, what if it didn’t match up to the one Draco had gotten for him. Oh well, he thought, taking a deep breath, he would just have to get this over with and deal with whatever came.

“I got you something too,” Harry admitted with a small smile. He went to his bedroom to collect the large book sized gift.

When Harry came back, Draco took the gift in a state of being mute from pleasant surprise. It wasn’t a book, but a box wrapped in green paper. He glanced back up at Harry and was almost relieved to see that Harry was just as nervous as he was.

“Thank you, Harry,” he managed to say as Harry sat back down opposite him, but he just stared at the Christmas gift most tingling in his hands.

Draco hadn’t expected Harry to give him anything, what with the huge number of people he already had to buy gifts for. He was immensely curious to what his ex-rival would have gotten an ex-death eater, teacher of Hogwarts like himself. He didn’t feel deserving of anything to be honest, not after he’d basically rejected Harry’s obvious interest in him, and then been slightly avoidant of the man’s company these last two days... and of course, the way he had behaved towards the golden boy during their school years. He wouldn’t deny that he had missed Harry’s company though, at least not to himself, not now they had developed a rather wonderful companionship. The gift was unexpected, but it meant something he hadn’t concluded on yet, and it made him feel light and fuzzy that Harry had brought something for him.

“Open it then!” Harry said, when Draco just continued to stare at it. He was nervous enough as it was, he just wanted to get this over with – and he hoped that Draco wouldn’t assume Harry was trying to buy his affections.

“You haven’t opened yours yet.” Draco raised his eyebrow, looking at the gift still unopened in Harry’s hands.

“Together then?” Harry asked, smirking at how awkward this had become, hoping his face wasn’t as flushed as it felt. He looked down at his own present, unwilling to look at Draco’s face. Surely it shouldn’t be this uncomfortable, two friends exchanging gifts on Christmas morning? Oh, but he wished they were more than that, and Draco’s reaction to his present was obviously very important to him. 

“Together.” Draco agreed.

They both started to open their respective gifts, slowly, sneaking glances at each other all the while. Harry was the first to reach his gift under paper, a few seconds before Draco in fact, and he frowned as he opened the lid to reveal a potion vial and what looked like a leather Lanyard.

The potion vial was opalescent glass, tear shaped, and had a silver ring soldered onto it. It contained a potion, but it was hard to identify through the glass colouring. The lanyard was a beautiful soft leather, well made, and it had runes embossed into the fabric. Seeing as he was rubbish at runes, he had no idea what they were for. There was a clasp at the bottom of the lanyard, and a strange silver chain that joined it at the top. He looked up to question Draco, to see the man almost reverently running a finger over his new green, peacock quill with a frown.

Draco, had opened his own gift to find a rather aesthetically pleasing leather-bound journal with parchment pages. The front of the leather was embossed with a most detailed image of a dragon’s head, bordered by what he thought was an intricate Celtic pattern. It also had a well-tailored gold clasp of some sort that kept the journal closed when not in use. It didn’t look wizard made though, which made him conclude that it must have been muggle made, but there was something magical about it regardless. It the journal wasn’t enough, accompanying it, was a beautiful, green peacock quill… but the writing end was unusual and strange – where the calamus shaft should have been, was a beautiful, gold filigree body… or handle he supposed, where you would hold the quill. The writing tip was also made of gold, and the box contained five other tips… but they were separate. There was also a bottle of ink, with a company name he didn’t recognise, and a pipette.

“It is mostly muggle made,” Harry spoke first, quietly and unsure, but it still made Draco jump, “but I managed to get some charms added.”

“Charms?” Draco inquired; it was all he could say right now. This gift was so suited to himself, so shocking and appreciated, that he just lost his thoughts to surprise. 

Harry knew that Draco was confused, it was expected, but he could also see the appreciation in coin-grey eyes. He was relieved to have something to direct the focus away from himself, even if he was curious about his own gift… that could wait a moment.

“The journal,” Harry pointed to it, “it is made by muggles, but I managed to get an everlasting spell added… the pages will never run out. It’s also protected from damage: dirty, dust, wear and tear, water… even most potions. If you choose to do so, a single drop of your own blood on the clasp, will make it unopenable to anyone but you.” Harry gave a small, hopeful smile.

“That’s… thank you Harry. Really, thank you.” Draco blinked as if in a daze. The gift was so thoughtful, and he wondered if the Dragon was just a coincidence. As if Harry had read his mind…

“I saw the journal in a muggle store. I knew you were named after the Draconis constellation, and the Dragon just… yeah.” Harry rubbed at the back of his neck.

“How did you know that?” Draco asked, frowning.

“Sirius once told me that all the Black’s were named from constellations or Greek mythology. It wasn’t hard to figure it out.”

“No, I guess not.” Draco hesitated a moment, looking back down at his gifts – especially the quill.

“The quill is also muggle made, not much magical about it I’m afraid, but again… I saw the green peacock quill and I thought you would like it.” Harry cleared his throat, deciding to plough on. “May I?” Harry asked, pointing to indicate his desire to show Draco how to use it. Draco nodded his consent, and Harry moved his chair around until he was sitting rather close next to him.

Draco was horrified to feel his face heating up at the close proximity, but he focused on watching as Harry unscrew the tip from the gold handle.

“You unscrew this,” Harry explained, “and you can use the pipette or magic to put the ink inside. You don’t need to dip it into the ink, you just write. It will last for about eighty inches of constant writing before you need to refill it.” Harry waited for the nod before continuing, trying not to smile as Draco’s look of surprise and awe stayed plastered to his face. “You have six different tips, from very flat to very pointy, so you will have to figure out which one you prefer. If the ink doesn’t flow, if it dries up a bit, or you wish to change tip or change ink colour, you can clean it with warm water or just use a cleaning charm. It’s actual gold, so it is okay to use magic on it. You just screw them back on like this.”

When Harry handed it back to him, their hands brushed and Draco felt bereft when the contact was lost. It confused him and frustrated him, his feelings, and he quite frankly didn’t wish to feel the way he did… he couldn’t afford to; the Golden boy and an Ex-Death Eater would never work out, his father’s actions had sullied the Malfoy name, and the media… people in general, it would go to madness if they found out. He would be targeted most aggressively for daring to ‘corrupt’ the boy whole lived, and Harry’s life would he a living hell – Merlin, Morgana and Salazar together wouldn’t be able to prevent the chaos and calamity that would erupt. 

Harry was looking at him with anticipation in them big green eyes of his. “Thank you, Harry, I will try this out later for certain.” He smiled, but he gratitude just didn’t seem enough – Harry had put a great deal of thought into this quill and journal. He honestly was fascinated by it, in awe, curios, and greatly appreciative … but how did he show that without turning into a Hufflepuff. Then he remembered the gift he had gotten for Harry.

“Did you… your gift Potter.” Fuck, he had stutter, Draco swore internally, but now that he’d realised that Harry hadn’t asked or said anything out his own gift, he worried that Harry hadn’t appreciated it. It had been a risky move on his part.

“Oh,” Harry realised that he’d been so caught up in Draco’s reaction to the journal and quill, delighted in making the blond speechless with appreciation, that he’d actually forgotten about the vial and lanyard. Harry reached across the table, to carefully bring his present closer, and smiled almost guilty at Draco. “It’s beautiful Draco, but… erm… what?” He frowned.

“It’s fine Potter,” Draco said, but Harry instantly recognising the defensive tone. “I shouldn’t have been so bold. My mistake, I’ll just-”

“Draco!” Harry interrupted, knowing he’d misunderstood completely. “I, I’m just not sure what it is exactly.” He admitted, feeling almost contrite as he bit his lip.

“Oh…” Said Draco. Yes, he’d not thought of that. Fuck! Had he been drugged, breathed in too many potions fumes lately? “I see,” Draco quickly tried to rein in control of his body and his growing embarrassment, “Hand it over then Potter, and I’ll show you!”

Harry smiled as he did so, knowing the use of his surname was Draco’s protection – feigning indifference. Something about this gift was worrying Draco, and the man had said it had been a bold move, and not to take it the wrong way… he suddenly had a feeling this was related to his mental issues, it was personal… very personal… but then he decided, he wouldn’t react negatively, that he would appreciate it no matter what it turned out to be… and it _was_ from Draco!

“This is a medi chain potter, or as the French call it, collier de médecine d'urgence. It is common in France, for those suffering seizure, allergies, or other ailments that need a close supply of potion, to wear one of these containing said potion.”

Draco seemed to speak to the room, like he was in a lecture or teaching a class. Harry _was_ listening but he was also enraptured as soon as Draco had spoken French… it was rather sexy actually.

“You clip the potion vial here once you have filled it,” Draco continued, and Harry looked as the vial suddenly shrunk down to the size of a garlic clove. “Now, you put it on over your head, like so,” Draco put it over his own head, Harry noticing that he did so with the utmost care not to mess up his neat blond hair, “and when you need the potion, you yank it away like this.” Draco surprised Harry then, when he literally ripped it away from his neck – the silver chain at the top severing apart. “It’s alright Potter, it’s not broken.” Draco rolled his eyes, obviously seeing Harry’s look of utter shock and upset at his broken gift. Harry frowned, and then he noticed that the vial had grown back to its original size. Draco was still explaining, “the vial can be uncorked now and drunk. The chain will not close itself again the vial has been removed and reconnected.”

Harry watched in fascination now, as Draco removed the still full vial from the clasp and then reattach it, the chain magically connecting itself back together. A particular memory then slithered its way into Harry’s mind:

_“My – My…” Harry tried to speak, pointing up at the bathroom cabinet. The visions were fading, but his breathing was so erratic that vertigo was settling in dangerously. The pain threatened to undo years of therapy, and he was humiliated to be caught in this state by anyone, let alone Draco Malfoy._

_The blond frantically searched the bathroom cabinet for clues as to what Harry needed._

_“P-Po -Potion.” Harry rasped, fighting to focus on Draco instead of his nightmares – listening to him list of the potions as he searched._

_“Pain relief? Dream sleep? Pepper up? Anti-Hiccup? Calming D-?”_

_Harry managed to make a loud noise of confirmation._

_“Calming drought.” Draco confirmed before rushing back to him. “It won’t be as effective with the whiskey you know.”_

_Harry tried to nod, but the spinning room threatened to make him vomit again. He tried to grab the potion vial, but he was too off balance and his hand grasped at air. Still gasping for breath, he felt a hand gently tip his head back so he could take the potion that Draco was now pouring into his mouth._

Harry wasn’t sure why Draco had brought this gift for him exactly, but he had a few ideas: Draco didn’t want to find himself in that uncomfortable situation again with him, Draco was worried that he-Harry could be caught short one day, maybe he assumed that would make him-Harry feel more comfortable to know that had the potion nearby, but Harry assumed that Draco cared. Draco had seen him at one of his worst moments, had seen him weak, had seen him broken for a few minutes that day… He wasn’t judging Harry, wasn’t laughing or ridiculing him, and most importantly, he wasn’t asking if he was okay or offering pointless advice. Draco was trying to help make things easier for him, was offering a gift that, at this point in time, meant a great deal to him.

Looking down at the leather lanyard with the shrunken vial attached, he tried to blink away a few stray tears… Fucking hell! Why was he getting emotional over this…?

_‘I feel Mr Potter, that your lack of affection growing up has repressed your emotional development. It is normal therefore, to feel emotional over things you consider ‘pathetic or childish’, it is nothing to be ashamed of, and it is quite common in those that have suffered neglect. You’re learning later than most, how to control these emotions, especial those related to someone showing you care, affection, praise…’_

“Harry?” Draco asked, in way that sounded as if it wasn’t the first time that he’d called his name.

“I’m fine,” Harry wiped his eyes quickly, “Just got lost there for a moment.”

“One of your mind haze episodes?” Draco asked with concern. Harry was grateful he never mentioned the bloody tears.

“Something like that, yeah.” The memory of what his therapist had said nearly ten years ago, was still hard to hear, even as a memory. He quickly pulled himself together however, “thank you Draco. This is a really thoughtful gift.” Harry picked up the Lanyard, putting it over his head. He noticed that it felt weight less. He lifted the shrunken vial in his fingers, and then he remembered, “what potion is this?” He was pretty sure he already knew the answer thought, and as he expected…

“It’s a calming drought potter. I made it myself, so I know it’s safe and most certainly better than where you usually acquire it from.”

Harry nodded with a smirk, “Thank you! I really do appreciate it.” His smirk morphed into a small smile.

“Good.” Draco decided to change the subject, he would never admit that Harry’s appreciation set of fireworks and bright fires of warmth inside of him. He also wanted to puff out his chest with pride, but what a ridiculous thought! “Now, I say we catch the end of breakfast before Minerva finds us.”

“What time is it?” Harry asked, but it was rhetorical as he checked his watch; 9:30am. As it was Christmas, and knowing that the children slept in late because of excitement preventing them from sleeping last night, and knowing how most children like to open all their Christmas gifts when they did wake up, breakfast was always held till late on December the 25th. “Yeah, let’s get going.”

They made there was to the door, exited into the cold corridor, and made their way to the Great Hall together.

“Thank you again Draco,” Harry said, looking down at his potion lanyard, “Merry Christmas!” 

“Merry Christmas Harry!” Draco nodded once. The smile on Harry’s face was worth it – he might never entertain his growing affections for the raven-haired man, might never be able to fully deny what his heart seemed to want, but as Harry’s friend… he could be there for him, and maybe… maybe he could pacify his growing desires with just that… a platonic relationship. And if he could persuade Padfoot to meet him, then he could have someone to focus his more amorous feeling on. 


	16. Christmas games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really do hope all my readers are all enjoying this story so far. This chapter was both fun and hard to write. Please, please leave comments so I know what you like and what you don't XD it helps me create better stories, and it really does encourages me to post new chapters sooner.

Sitting at a one long Hogwarts table in the middle of the Great Hall, decorated spectacularly in a winter wonderland theme of silver and blue, were seven merry teachers, and twenty-seven joyful students. Everyone was tucking into their Christmas dinner and talking cheerfully between mouthfuls of turkey, stuffing, and roast potatoes, over the sounds of silverware on brilliant white plates. 

Draco sat among the teachers that had stayed for the Christmas holidays, at the far end of the frosty-blue decorated table – adorned with miniature ice sculptures and floating candles burning in silver holders – and he found himself unable to stop glancing across the table at Harry as he spoke with Minerva.

“Mother did consider returning for the holidays,” said Draco, answering Minerva’s latest question regarding his mother’s well-being, “but I assured her it wasn’t necessary. She has been keeping busy with the book story… and I believe her attention has been greatly occupied with a possible male companion.”

Yes, his mother had mentioned a man – many times in fact, in her correspondence to him – and if he’d read the letter correctly, then he was certain she had been alluding to a growing relationship with one Valerius Cantrelle. One didn’t simply mention the same man twenty times between three letters, if one was only a regular to her shop. The fact he was so regular spoke volumes… perhaps he needed to pay his mother a visit and scoop out this Valerius! 

“Really?” Minerva sounded shocked. “That must be difficult, what with her standing marriage to Lucius.” 

“With all due respect Minerva, I’d rather not talk about this here… but I’ll say is this,” Draco whispered, “Mother will be divorced before the new year.” Taking a forkful of roast potato to indicate he would say more on the subject, he thought back to his Mother’s letters. 

It was true, Harry had come through for her – something he was eternally grateful to Harry for - and his mother was planning on sending the divorce certificate to her ex-husband as a New Year gift. Lucius had no idea that Narcissa would be a Malfoy no more, and Draco suspected that his father would not be happy. He didn’t care what Lucius thought anymore, his mother deserved happiness after what that bastard put her through... what he’d put them both through. Lucius Malfoy was no longer his father, and even though he would be keeping his Malfoy name, he wanted nothing to do with the man that had sired him.

As he glanced up at Harry again, he couldn’t help but blame his father for dealing the cards that had inevitably stolen his chances today, to explore and admit the feelings he was developing for one Harry Potter. In fact, and he sneered at the thought, it was his father’s upbringing that had inevitable caused his rivalry with Potter in 1991; his beliefs, his holier-than-thou attitude, and his narcissistic nature … were all thanks to his sire’s misguided beliefs of what, and how, one should teach their only child. 

“Then good for her!” Minerva said, stopping him from dwelling any longer on his pathetic excuse of a father.

He saw Minerva help herself to another serving of honey roasted parsnips. Draco was thankful that she’d taken the hint and didn’t ask any more on the subject, he didn’t want his business aired all over the school – students had a knack for overhearing things and spreading gossip.

He turned to face Harry when he heard Minerva suddenly say, “you really should eat more veg Harry.” The ageing headmistress then pushed the parsnip tray towards the raven-haired man. 

“Thanks, but I’m saving room for dessert.” Harry declined politely, smiling with slight embarrassment – possibly because he’d been caught eating mostly meat again, and then only enough to fill a six-year-old – but he was a brave man… Draco would have taken the parsnips just to avoid the look Minerva was now sending Harry’s way. Yes, Minerva might be aging gracefully, but she was still a formidable woman … and not someone you denied if you could help it.

Harry was always weird with food though, Draco thought, wondering if that was just part of being a Potter or something. He’d noticed Harry’s complete lack of eating routine, how he simply ate when he wanted – which wasn’t much at all; Harry also skipped meals in the Great Hall, and when Draco had asked about it in the past, Harry had just shrugged and said, ‘Kreacher brings me food when I ask for it, I sometimes eat in my private chambers.’ He wasn’t sure why it bothered him or acted like an itch he needed to scratch, Harry wasn’t losing weight or anything, but it was a mystery… and Draco liked to solve mysteries. 

“You’ve barley eaten Potter!” Draco said before he could stop himself. 

“I just don’t have a big appetite, its not like I’m underweight or anything.” Harry chuckled rolling his eyes.

“Well, I’ll take that–”

Draco was interrupted by a loud bang of a nearby cracker. Two fifth year Hufflepuffs – Miss Briana Payne, the girl that had blown up many cauldrons this year, and Miss Ella Munson – had just pulled the first Christmas cracker. Both girls were laughing as Miss Payne donned a rather large, bright-yellow sunhat, featuring dancing reindeer. The typical squeak of mice was followed with an obnoxious squeal of horror from Miss Josephine Prescott – a second year Slytherin, who jumped to stand on her bench, and an equally ear-piercing shriek from Miss Leona Adair – a first year Ravenclaw.

“Miss Prescott!” Draco’s voice of annoyance was laced with a cold disappointment, and the entire table went silent. _Perfect_ , Draco thought, when the girl in question looked contrite at his glare. “Forgive me if I missed the latest,” he drawled, “but I’m quite certain that the customary behaviour of one at the dinner table, is still to remain _seated_ unless one is excused or one excuses themselves.”

Unknown, and unseen by Draco, a shiver ran though Harry spine – caused by that drawling voice that reminded him so much of one Severus Snape. Draco’s ability to silence a room, to gain totally silence, and to send chills down his spine with his voice alone… Damn, it was attractive and arousing!

“But there was rat sir, and-”

“A mouse, actually!” Filius Flitwick added, nodding from a few seats up in his modified – raised chair. He wasn’t angry, but a little disappointed. “That was quite an unnecessary commotion from you too Miss Adair.” Filius address his first year Ravenclaw with a shake of his head.

“Sir?” Miss Leona Adair looked offended. “It was a mouse! They carry diseases, plagues, and-”

“I hate to say it Professor Flitwick,” Minerva shook her head in feigned sympathy, “but we may have just discovered an unintelligent eagle. It will surely be one for the history books! I dare say it is pointless arguing, but,” she turned to face the Ravenclaw student, “I can assure you Miss Adair, that if you end up in the hospital wing due to rodent-bite fever, I’ll award you a house point for every spot you can find when the rash eventually breaks out.” 

There were a few chuckles at the table, from some of the students and teachers alike. Hagrid seemed to shift slightly with his hand in one of his pockets. Miss Adair and Miss Prescott, both looked equally embarrassed.

“I’ll warn everyone now,” Minerva address all the student’s this time, “for those of you who do not know yet. Each Hogwarts Christmas cracker contains mice, if that is going to be an issue for you… you may be excused back to your dormitory. Although I must also inform you that rats and mice have lived within these walls since the founders built the school, perhaps Beauxbatons Academy of Magic will be better suited to your needs.”

Minerva stared down at the students over her square spectacles, but no one dared to leave the table even if they _had_ wanted to – which they did not. The two girls that had previously screamed at the mice, looked a bit disgusted at the idea of rodents roaming the castle, but they hung their heads in shame. Draco wasn’t exactly keen on rodents himself, but they were harmless – often eating scraps of food around the school or the kitchens, but otherwise they were mostly unseen – and no one had ever been bitten by a wild rat or mouse when he was student here.

“Very well,” Minerva said, “as it is Christmas, I’m sure we can all agree to excuse your ridiculous behaviour this time around. Let us enjoy the rest of this wonderful feast. I think the deserts will be along soon.” And as an after though she added, “I’m rather looking forward to the Christmas pudding!” 

Everyone resumed eating merrily, but Draco turned to look at the students. He caught Miss Payne’s line of sight – she looked a bit sheepish as if she was embarrassed by the fact it was _her_ cracker with Miss Munson that caused the interruption. They didn’t usually pull the crackers until pudding, so it was premature, but the girl shouldn’t look so whipped.

“You do have a tendency to cause explosive reactions Miss Payne.” Draco smirked slightly at her look of mortification. “Not to worry, I’m teasing… but I must say, that hat rather suits you.”

She smiled at her potion professor, apparently relaxing now that she knew she wasn’t being held accountable. “Thank you, sir!” She said, and Draco nodded.

“She seems less nervous around you.” Harry suddenly commented from across the table.

“Ah yes. Miss Payne has been taking extra potions lessons with me. I know she has the ability; she did manage to get exceeds expectations in her OWLs, but with the difficultly level increase of her potions class this year she just needs the extra practice and study time. I believe it was her nerves that have been causing her disastrous start of term, at least where her potions were concerned.”

“That’s good, she’s a bright student. She works hard from what I’ve heard.” Harry said.

“What is she like in your lessons?” Draco asked, drinking eggnog from his crystal goblet. He’d noticed a change in Miss Payne – both in her behaviour and grades, but then he only taught her potions. 

“She does very well with her written work, but lacks confidence in practical. She gets there in the end, but now you mention it … she does seem to need to extra help – she didn’t last year.”

“Perhaps we should bring this to Longbottom’s attention; her change in performance and behaviour could be affecting her other classes likewise?” Draco suggested. The girl maybe prone to _somehow_ blowing up cauldrons, but she could brew potions to ‘exceeds expectations’ level when she concentrated. This year she had increased her penchant for explosive errors, but she had also become careless and nervous. It wasn’t like her, and it would be best for her head of house – Neville Longbottom – to know that something was off. 

“Yeah, that might be a good idea actually. I’ll talk to Neville tomorrow.” Harry agreed, thinking about Miss Payne’s behaviour so far. 

Draco nodded, wondering if something had changed in the girl’s home life… or perhaps it _was_ just the increase of work that was expected of fifth years in comparison to fourth year … either way, he’d feel better knowing her head of house was aware of the change. The girl seemed happy enough right now though … but then it was Christmas day. 

He hadn’t realised that the pudding had been sent up until he next looked down at the table… his mind rapidly changing from thoughts of Miss Payne to chocolate… in particular, one very luxurious, triple chocolate yule log with chocolate shavings. Oh Merlin! He couldn’t… he shouldn’t… but… it was Christmas!

* * *

Harry had left Draco to his thoughts while he talked with the students and the other teachers – trying not to be the awkward one at the table that sat in silence. It seemed that Draco was still being limited with him though, only talking about trivial things or work, and quickly retreating from communication if it got too much or run past his quota for the day. He still glanced Draco’s way; he just couldn’t help it! He was fool in love and Draco had no idea that Harry’s heart was frozen, anxious, and waiting with bated breath – or in this case, with bated beats – for the answers that would only come when the truth came out about Padfoot.

He glanced up at Draco, withholding a smirk as the blond helped himself to the chocolate yule log. Harry helped himself to the sticky toffee pudding, and then froze – only for a few seconds – with the spoon of toffee dessert on its way to his mouth when he heard the quiet moan of delight escape Draco’s chocolate covered lips… he quickly continued to shove the spoon into his mouth before anyone caught him staring at the blond teacher, and he looked down at his plate to hide the blush that was mortifyingly on his face. Sounds like that should be illegal!

Luckily, Draco made no more illicit sounds, and it seems no one but himself had noticed the first one, but he did notice when Draco took a second large helping of the yule log, and soon enough … he went to take a third…

Draco was telling himself that one more helping would be okay, it would be his last, and he just couldn’t resist one more bowl of that rich, irresistible, homemade, chocolate log. The moist treat was enough to melt his mind, to take him away from reality … and to temporarily remove Potter from his thoughts. He picked up the knife, and as soon as he went to cut off another slice… the yule log vanished.

What the fuck? Looking up and down the table in hopes it had just been moved, he soon caught Harry’s pointed look and folded arms. His disappointment turned to anger at the injustice.

“Potter!” He accused, and the raven-haired prat opposite him smirked.

“The fruit cocktail isn’t bad.” Harry said, innocently.

Draco sneered – Oh, innocent my arse! He thought viciously. He’d kill Potter, he’d really wanted that chocolate! “What did do with it?” He demanded, realising he was acting like a petulant child, instead of a thirty-year-old adult teacher… but he really couldn’t give a fuck right now – the audacity! 

“Draco, ask yourself this,” Harry whispered, leaning over the table and trying not to laugh, “do you really want to interrupt Poppy’s Christmas because you foolishly got sick? She looks really happy right now, don’t you think?” He turned his head to surreptitiously look toward the healer before continuing. “Enjoying her food and taking a well-earned break – no one in her infirmary. And Minerva,” he flicked his eyes over to the headmistress, “do you really want to deal with her ire, today of all days…”

It had the desired effect Harry was hoping for, and he smirked when Draco shuddered at the thought. The blond didn’t look happy though, more petulantly resigned to the fact he wouldn’t be having more chocolate today, and he acted like a reprimanded child. Harry chuckle.

“Shut it Potter!” Draco whispered, glaring at the raven-haired man. Why did he have to be right? Bloody saint Potter!

Draco couldn’t help feeling extremely embarrassed though; chocolate was like a drug to him, a craving that he’d developed after figuring out that chocolate soothed his less than positive moods. Yes, chocolate had always been a weakness to him, but after the war it had become something he could rely on – something that would always been there to warm him when he fell into a depressive or stressed state of mind. Luckily, no one else had noticed his childish behaviour, and Salazar... he would have mortified if they had. 

Bang!

Draco jumped, realising that everyone who had yet to do so were now pulling their Christmas crackers.

“Draco?” Harry called to him over the bangs, laughter, and squeaks, holding out his own cracker toward him. “Will you do me the honour?”

Harry was smiling at him – the same smile that he craved to see, yet at the same time, it was a smile that he wished wasn’t aimed at him because it muddled his well-organised mind. Oh, right… the cracker… Should he? He really didn’t want to give Harry hope that there’d ever been something between them… Oh, but it was a just a bloody cracker! As long as he didn’t have to wear a stupid hat… he nodded.

Bang!

Harry laughed – such a pure addicting sound – as smoke filled the air between them. A tall hat with hanging baubles appeared, two mice squeaked as they ran off, and other crackers ‘banged’ around them with similar effects – only with different items appearing. Of course, Harry put the ridiculous hat on, still chuckling away.

Shaking his head in mock disgust, Draco felt a pang of longing for the man opposite him, a deep-rooted want, a strong desire to have… … Oh, that would not do! He blanched. How was this possible? He could _not_ be _in_ love with Potter! He refused to believe that his swirling stomach, sweating palms, and raised heart rate meant anything more than simply too much chocolate… and Harry had rudely taken away his yule log for crying out loud! Okay, that was a lame excuse, he’d admit it… and he’d even go as far to admit that he was grateful Potter hadn’t let him embarrass himself further… but… he just could not be with Potter! It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t logical…

He couldn’t think right now… his mind was a mess – Harry’s laughter, and his smiling wasn’t helping in the slightest – he needed space.

“Please, excuse me!” Draco politely excused himself from the table. He left the Great Hall, forcing himself to walk normally, but once he was in the corridor he walked briskly to his private chambers.

No! Any relationship with Potter would only be a doomed; the media, the accusations that would be thrown his way, the ruin it would cause to Potter’s reputation… not to mention the attention it would cause – attention that Potter hated so vehemently, and that he-himself really didn’t need right now either…

No! He had to focus on something else… someone else! Yes, he had found something quite real and wonderful with Padfoot. His only chance at love lay with the mysterious man behind the parchment. It would work as a distraction – as it had been these past couple of day – but it was also something that was truly promising; he _truly_ felt something for Padfoot, he _honestly_ was attracted the mysterious man, and…

He had to ask Padfoot to meet him! Had to do it _now_ while he had the sudden bout of courage he needed. Yes, he had time before he would be missed.

* * *

Sitting on his bed, Draco had just finished the most nerve-racking letter to Padfoot…

_**Good evening Mon Chéri,  
I do hope you’ve had a most wonderful Christmas, but I have question to ask you.**_

_**While I’ll admit that I find it most difficult to put this in writing, I think it is time that I did; you leave me no choice Mon Chéri, for all I have been waiting… you have not asked me.** _

_**It is no secret that I am fond of you, that I am attracted to not only your words but to the person you have portrayed yourself to be in our letters. I want more Mon Chéri, I want to know you beyond the parchment – beyond the words. I yearn to hear your name – your voice, to colour the grey parts of you that I have yet to discover… will you let me?** _

_**Mon Chéri, will you do me the honour of agreeing to meet me?** _

_**Please, take your time to think about it. I will be waiting with bated breath, but I do not wish to make you feel uncomfortable. I’ll admit that I am nervous, but you Padfoot… you are kind, non-judgmental, caring, and amusingly peculiar; I know that whatever you chose, you will do so without ridicule – without meaning to cause me harm.** _

_**Please, Mon Chéri, do not agree to meet me unless that is what you desire. I will not hold it against you if you if you decline my offer, and although I will be disappointed, I will not take it personally.** _

_**Tau x** _

Draco hesitated only a moment longer, before finally sending it using the Mannaz shaped rune. It was done… now he just had to wait. In the meantime, he unfortunately had to return to work post haste; the students needed to be supervised and he would be missed if he remained absent any longer. 

With a deep sigh, he nodded to himself and left his private rooms – vowing to distance himself from one Harry bloody Potter, and focus his energy on Padfoot.

* * *

As much as Draco tried to avoid Harry Potter, it seemed that the fates had other plans – why they tormented him so was beyond him, hadn’t he suffered enough?

“You can’t hide forever Mr Malfoy!” Harry goaded, bouncing a red snowball in his hand.

They were outside in the snow; most of the students had begged for outside activities that evening before bed – finishing their snowmen and having snowball fights. They would be sent in at half past eight, so they could bath or shower, and then wind down for the night in their common rooms. Minerva had sent Filius, Neville, Draco and Harry to supervise the outside students – all eighteen of them.

“Yeah Mr Malfoy, you’re trapped!” Fourth year Gryffindor, Arlan Monero shouted from behind Harry, also with his own red snowball… in fact, all sixteen students that were around Harry had red snowballs – as did Filius Flitwick and Neville Longbottom.

Draco, along with two Slytherins, where currently hiding inside a charmed fort of snow with green snowballs – whispering to each other.

The snow was charmed red for Harry’s team, and green for Draco’s – a nice idea of one Professor Filius Flitwick. If you were hit, you joined the team you were last hit by, and so far, Harry’s team were winning. They had started with even teams: Harry’s team having Neville and nine students, Draco with Filius and nine students... but now Draco was left with only two Slytherin students, and they were hiding behind charmed snow.

“Okay,” Draco whispered breathlessly from inside the magical fort, “this is our last chance to gain team members for our side again. Are you sure you both know the spell?” Draco really didn’t want to lose to bloody Potter! He’d quickly helped the girls brush up on a spell they’d already learnt from home, and he was thankful that Potter had gotten so complacent and cocky in his winning streak that he’d left them be long enough to plan their next move. 

“I’ll give you ten seconds to come out guys… then we’ll melt your little fort to a puddle!” Harry called out, laughter ringing around him.

As the students on Harry’s team were ready to clout Draco, Lilium, and Josephine in red snowballs, Draco was starting his own count down. 

“Then on the count of three…” Draco whispered conspiratively, “…one… two… three!”

Draco used a spell to melt a bottom section of their snow fort, while the girls pointed their wands at the ground and said, “Gliaciar!”

It worked! The snow on the ground froze like ice, and their opposition were momentarily shocked. In their haste to gain balance on the ice, and their laps of focus … it was on!

Draco and the girls emerged with non-slip charms on their boots, they started lobbing snowballs and quickly gaining back their numbers. Students glowed green and red for their change of teams as they were hit, and It was utter madness once again. In the chaos that rained – in snowballs quite literally – Draco threw a well-aimed snowball straight at Harry’s shocked face as the raven-haired man tried to dodged and reflected a multitude of other snowballs. Harry’s chest glowed green, signalling his new team position.

Harry had forgotten one of the most important rules of battle… Never let your guard down until the last opponent is taken out! Smirking when Harry looked at him in surprise, he realised he didn’t need to win this – he’d just needed to hit stupid Potter. Now however, his smugness was turning to anxiety as Harry moved closer to him with a smirk of his own.

Each step closer that Potter took, was another skip of his heart… and what Draco didn’t see, was that Harry was using wandless magic to lift a small mound of snow that sat behind him. Distracted by the oncoming raven-haired man, he almost squeaked in shock when that mound crashed over his head and snow exploded over his entire body.

“Potter!” Draco practically shrieked, shaking of the snow. “You can’t attack me! you’re on my team now!”

“Guess I broke the rules!” Harry winked, sending a whole knew type of shiver down Draco’s spine. “What are you going to do about it?”

That challenge was Draco’s undoing… he forgot everything he’d resolved to do, everything around him, even that he was a teacher with students to supervise, and he only knew that he had to accept the challenge with an action. Draco hastily moved away from the raven-haired man, swiping his wand, and causing the snow to lift from the ground in a small snow flurry.

Harry braced himself, wand at the ready as pure excitement took hold of him, and he too lost himself to the anticipation of this friendly battle. The snow flurry that Draco had caused, morphed into a small blizzard – one that blinded him from his opponent, but he wasn’t afraid or nervous... this would be fun! 

Harry managed to cancel the blizzard around him, the snowy gust whooshing upwards and dispersing in a show of falling snow, and he used his wand to encase Draco’s feet in ice.

Draco used a charm to send no less than ten large snowballs speeding towards Harry’s face, and while Harry deflected them with a shield, Draco used the distraction to free his feet.

Harry wasted no time in sending the head of a nearby snowman speeding straight for Draco, but the blond used his wand to change its course just in time, and sent it flying through the air towards Harry instead.

Harry lifted his left hand in slight panic, and managed to use wandless magic to explode the head halfway towards him. Using his wand, he tried to imprison Draco in the snow that he was causing to build up and around his legs fast. 

Draco countered the spell as the snow reached his waist, but he had no time to cast his attack – suddenly, a multitude of incoming snowballs where headed straight for him, and he had to doge them all by diving to the ground and rolling in the snow.

Harry, having noticed the amount of snow in Draco’s hair and on his clothes from the dodge and roll, quickly cast the melting charm to turn it into water. Laughing at the look of horror on Draco’s face as the cold wet seeped thru his clothes, he didn’t have time to deflect the jinx sent his way that knocked him backwards into the snow.

Draco stood up and twisted his wand, causing the snow around Harry to crawl over his downed body, attempting to hold him down on the ground.

Harry sent a boiling spell at the snow under Draco’s boots, causing Draco to lose his focus on the spell as he jumped away from the now boiling water. Harry used that few seconds, to free himself and get back to his feet – wand brandished or the next round of friendly attacks. 

So caught up in their own battle, they didn’t see nor hear the students watching and cheering for their favourite teacher… or just egging on the battle and watching in awe. Their own snow fight had been completely forgotten about, and Filius and Neville kept them at a safe distance while they watched.

Neville, was still shocked at the power Draco and Harry wielded, even now – the passion behind their friendly battle was surprising too, and the two of them were so into it that they’d forgotten the students. They were completely focused on each other…

Filius, was enjoying the show to be honest, proud of his ex-students use of charms. They maybe teachers now, with a responsibility, but it was Christmas and even the teachers needed to have fun sometimes. What intrigued him the most however, was the obvious fire that burned brightly between them… yes, there’d always been something burning there – the flames of rivalry, competition, enemy’s … but now … now the flames burned for each other. He could see it in their eyes; this battle wasn’t meant to harm, no… but to prove their worth to each other.

The students were mesmerised, excited, and they viewed this as a very rare and awesome treat. They were so glad that they had stayed for Christmas, and that they had opted to play outside this evening – no one would believe them when the other students returned, when they got to share the recount of events with their other friends.

When Mr Potter started to manipulate the snow that was being sent his way by Mr Malfoy, the students gawped in awe at the huge, massive snowball that had started to form above their defence against the Dark arts teacher’s head, growing bigger, and bigger, and bigger... 

Harry was manipulating Draco’s incoming snow attack, planning to send the growing snowball straight towards the blond the moment that Draco let up with his current spell. He thought he had it all sussed out, but before he had a chance to enact his evil plan… Draco flicked his wand up, smoothly ending one spell and immediately casting another in such a quick succession, straight at the very massive snowball above his head.

The bear sized snowball, that Harry had only managed to move about a foot in Draco’s direction, rapidly melted! A huge wave of freezing water poured down over Harry’s panting, exhausted body. Harry was both literally, and metaphorically frozen to the spot in a shivering mess.

Draco stood panting, wet, covering in snow, exhausted, and with thoroughly mess up hair. They were both breathless and sore, both bruised from the onslaught of snowballs, and both freezing bloody cold – although Draco might admit that Harry must be worse of on the cold front right now.

Harry, completely frozen to the bone, started laughing; Merlin he was exhausted! He collapsed to his knees in surrender. 

Draco flicked his wand, casting a drying charm over Harry’s clothes before he developed hypothermia, and followed it up with a heating charm.

“Thanks.” Harry shivered.

If Draco replied, it was drowned out by the cheering and shouting students. It was only then that they remembered where they were, and why they were outside to begin with… they were both suddenly feeling embarrassed.

“That was AWESOME!” One of the male students shouted over the loud cheering and clapping. Neville and Filius could be heard ushering the students back towards the castle, but Harry and Draco were still a bit distracted with pulling themselves together to pay attention just yet. 

“Need a hand?” Draco smirked down at Harry, holding out a hand for him to take when Harry showed no signs of getting up. 

Harry nodded, taking the offered hand, and letting Draco pull him back up on to his frozen, numb feet. The warming charm would take a while to get his body temperature back up – he could probably do with a warm shower too. Their hands held for longer than necessary – a couple of seconds maybe, and before they moved away to get their respective students back to their dormitories, their eyes met… and for a moment they just stared at each other. Their breath clouded between them as they breathed, the fire so hot in its unspoken desire… but Draco just nodded and strolled away.

Draco cursed himself for his moment of weakness. What the fuck was he thinking? The friendly battle was one thing, but what the bloody hell was that at the end? He had to stay away from Potter, the risk of doing something he’d regret was too great in the man presence… he had, for a moment of foolishness on his part, wanted to kiss the man again… and in front of the students and the other two teachers. ‘ _Merlin help me!’_ He thought, gathering up his congratulating Slytherin students. It was only when Miss Zabini pointed out that he was still wet, did he remember to cast a drying and warming charm on himself. 

Harry took a moment to gather his wits about him and remember that he had students to escort to the Gryffindor tower. He’d felt bereft of the warmth that had seemed to radiate from Draco’s own cold body somehow, and he thought, just for a moment, that Draco had shared his desires. He’d probably imagined it; their battle and the cold having affected his better judgement… but there was still a tiny ray of hope that came from the way Draco had stared at him. The only thing was, if Draco did share his feelings – or even a fraction of them – why would he claim that it would never work between them? That’s what he said, right?

_“Don’t ruin what we have!” Draco’s eyes pleaded. “Don’t! Nothing can happen between us… I have Padfoot, and you’re–”_

_“What if Padfoot wasn’t … what if he didn’t exist?” Harry asked._

_“I-I don’t, I don’t know Harry.”_

It was certainly something that he’d spend the night pondering.

* * *

In the Slytherin common room, Draco was just waiting for the house elves to send up hot chocolate for his four students; the teachers had all agreed that they could have a mug each before bed to help them warm up and sleep tonight. The first year – Samuel Bartlett, and the two second years – Lilium Zabini and Josephine Prescott, had showered and were ready for bed. Colten Sayer – a seventh year who hadn’t joined in with the outside activities that evening, was also ready for bed and allowed a hot chocolate too.

“This was the best Christmas!” Samuel declared, plopping down on the empty dark green button-tufted, leather sofa.

Draco was in two minds on that statement; it had mostly been a good day, yes, but his feelings were still in chaos behind his mask and walls regarding both Potter and Padfoot. His complete realisation that he was, in fact, in love with Potter, meant nothing! He could play the denial card, _would_ play it, and perhaps his new feelings for Potter were simply a strong sexual attraction – something enticing because it was new and exciting, and something that he’d get over once things grew with Padfoot… he certainly hoped so. 

“I wish it wasn’t over.” Lilium said, a sadness to her voice. She was sitting next to her best friend Josephine, who nodded in agreement.

“All good things must come to an end, or they would no longer remain special.” Draco told them, secretly feeling a sense of grief over the fact that it had to end with Potter, because it could never even get started… before it even started. Denial! He had to stop thinking about bloody Potter! 

“We know sir,” Lilium said, “but it’s still a shame that it is over already. The day went rather quickly; I feel as if I’ve just woke up.”

Draco sighed, wishing he could just retreat to his private rooms, but he sat down in the empty armchair instead so that he could do his duty as teacher. “The best moments always seemed to accelerate and slip beyond one's grasp just when you want to hold onto them for as long as possible.’ That was a quote from a muggle writer, E.A. Bucchianeri, who rather liked music and chocolate, but it is quite true. You can measure the moment by how fast time sees to move.”

And for a second, before his thoughts were interrupted by Mr Sayer, he couldn’t stop the thought about how time had gone so fast during his snow battle with Potter this evening…

“You sure you’re a Slytherin sir, you sound more like a Ravenclaw!” Colten Sayer chuckled.

“To be truly cunning you need wisdom to pull it off, and there are many kinds of wisdom. It never hurts to know more than your adversaries, and it certainly helps when one wishes to be ambitious.” Draco told them. “Did you not wish to spend the night with your brother Mr Sayer?”

“Not tonight, Curtis was just going to study anyway… like always.” Colten rolled his eyes; his twin brother was sorted into Ravenclaw.

“Ah.” Draco nodded, withholding a smirk.

Their drinks suddenly appeared on the table in the common room, and Draco’s eyebrow raised when he realised there were five drinks and only four students… well, he certainly wouldn’t complain, Salazar only knew how much he needed something chocolatey right now to help settle his rampaging thoughts and feelings. 

“Finish your drinks and then retreat to bed; breakfast will be served at the usual time tomorrow and I expect to see you all present.” Draco reminded them, smiling in pride at his students, and eventually bidding them goodnight before finally retreating to his own private rooms with his hot chocolate. 


	17. Sonixies

Harry had just finished his reply to Draco/Tau – after pacing his private rooms, tapping nervously with his fingers and quill, and spending the last two hours trying to think of what to actually say. The truth _had_ to come out – there was no _sensible_ alternative option – but he was assuming that Draco would never talk to him again after it did, and because of that belief, he wanted to wait until he’d shown his memories to Mr Silas Avery; until they had dealt with that boy to the best of their abilities, they couldn’t risk being at odds with one another. 

He was ashamed to admit – even if it was just to himself – that he needed Draco to be there when they viewed the memories. He’d been thinking about precisely what memories to show Mr Avery, and just the thought of them unsettled him. Yes, he’d grieved for the lives lost in the war, learnt not to place the blame so heavily on his own shoulders, and spent years in therapy, but his flashbacks and emotions simply failed to understand logic and reasoning; it wasn’t logical to lose his mind to visions when he thought back to certain events, and it made no sense because he’d been through all the motions towards recovery… but it didn’t matter! His head was fucked up, and he knew he’d need the support when the time came. Worst case scenario: he’d have a flash back, and Mr Avery would take advantage of his lack of awareness and attempt to kill him. Best case: he’d be slightly affected and he’d have Draco there for support.

If he agreed to meet Draco before then, to reveal his true identity, there was a massive chance that Draco would refuse to talk to him again. Yes, he _could_ ask Minerva to assist him, but Draco would have the better chance of getting through to Silas as an ex-death eater, and as Slytherin’s head of house. It all came down to the fact that Draco _had_ to be there; he couldn’t jeopardise the only opportunity they had to help Silas reform – if it was even possible – and that meant delaying the date of their inevitable meeting.

He’d spoken with Minerva again last week, with Draco, and they had agreed that they should work with Silas over a week or two, not just on that first Friday of the new term – Friday 7th of January – because changing one’s opinions didn’t happen overnight, and they had quite a bit to get through if they had any hope of getting through to the boy. They’d also agreed that Silas would receive detention every night, starting from the first day of term – Monday the 3rd of January – and that he would not be permitted his wand outside of lessons or unsupervised for the first four weeks of term. Mrs Avery – Silas’s mother – had collected her son’s wand after her meeting with Minerva back on the 19th of December, and she had been informed that, if Silas attempted to harm another person – be it a student or a teacher – he would be expelled and the Aurors _would_ be notified. Suffice to say, the woman had left in an angry huff. 

Well, that left Harry agreeing to meet Draco/Tau at Le’Amortentia, on Saturday the 29th of January… five weeks away. He really didn’t want to wait that long; leaving Draco to believe that Padfoot was going to sweep him away in some romantic notion, while denying any feelings for him/Harry, was almost crippling him with guilt … but he felt that Silas was more important than his own personal matters right now, and there was no way this would work if Draco wasn’t on speaking terms with him. So… he checked his letter one last time before sending it off. 

**_Good evening Tau,  
I had a great Christmas thank you, and I hope you had a good day likewise.  
  
I am delighted that you asked to meet and I have been waiting for you ask, my Chéri, and I apologies for not anticipating your desire to do so. I’ll admit, I was afraid you would decline if I asked you before you were ready. _ **

**_As much as I love the winter, it is a busy time of year – a busy Christmas leading into the start of a busy new year for me. With work especially, the earliest I can meet you, is Saturday the 29 th of January. Any time works for me that day, and I hope this is suitable for you. _ **

**_I sincerely apologise that we cannot meet sooner, and though I cannot explain why in too much detail for now, I will be able to explain more thoroughly then… when we can share more personal details with each other face to face. If you are amenable to this, then let me know a time and we can both book and confirm it with Le’Amortentia respectively._ **

**_Your Chéri, Padfoot.  
x _ **

After returning the quill and parchment to the draw in his bedside table, Harry settled down into bed to sleep. With his mind playing over the different possible scenarios of Tau and Padfoot’s inevitable meeting, it was a while before he drifted off… and straight into throes of nightmares:

_A shapeless face was there to great him at Le’Amortentia, while he-himself shifted nervously in his best, casual robes, and smiled hopefully at his secret Chéri – all a flutter, breathless, and weightless with the hope of acceptance and reciprocated love._

_The shapeless face morphed into that of one gorgeous, Draco Malfoy, but instead of a smile and open arms … he was welcomed with a sneer of disgust that chilled the room. Hope was sapped from him as if in the presence of Dementors, and his heart cracked down the middle as a biting coldness washed over him._

_Harry tried so desperately, but in vain, to explain why he’d failed to be truthful sooner, and **why** he’d let Draco go on believing in Padfoot when the man did not exist… but then … Padfoot appeared! _

_Standing right there, next to Draco, was a perfect copy of himself. Draco welcomed Padfoot into his arms and they kissed with a searing passion, while he … he was left wilting and heartbroken … cold, desolate and alone._

_He couldn’t watch Draco in another man’s arms!_

_He turned away to flee from the room … but fear paralyzed him when instead of a door, there was a floor to ceiling mirror. It wasn’t himself reflected in the smooth surface of the glass, but a figure that haunted him from beyond the grave … Voldemort!_

_“No!” He stumbled backwards, repeating the negative until the cold voice tormented him once again._

_“Harry potter!” Voldemort drawled from his own lips. “Such foolish notions that you believe: friends, family, **love**.” Voldemort spat at the ground; the word love seemed to burn his tongue just saying it. “So weak! You are nothing more than a sacrifice, a saviour for the worthless, a puppet on a string for others to pull.”_

_Harry turned, but instead of walls, all he found were mirrors … no doors nor windows … no way out, and nowhere to look but at his reflection – his reflection being Voldemort, his worst nightmares of possession._

_“Did you really believe that you would be free of me?” Voldemort drawled on, and no matter how Harry moved, the reflection would move with him. “That you would get to move on and find happiness… find **love**.” Again, the word love strained on his snake like tongue. “I never left Harry. I can **never** die. As long as you breath I will always be **inside** of you … waiting, watching. You can never escape me, never move on while I am here within you.”_

_“No!” Harry continued to repeat the negative, louder and louder he screamed, shaking his head, until the mirrors shattered around him like an almighty crash of thunder. Glass rained down … everywhere … a representation of his life perhaps? Having protected his face from the exploding glass, he dropped his scratch littered arms just in time to see the smoke billowing from where the mirrors once stood … horrified, as the smoke took on the physical form of Voldemort himself, and behind the evil man stood the hooded figures of two Dementors that wanted to take his very soul._

_“Yes!” Voldemort hissed, standing in front of a paralyzed Harry who had sweat beading down his face. “Yes, you will never be rid of me, Harry Potter!” Voldemort caressed a pale, long bony finger, down the fearful face of Harry’s – from his forehead, down his cheek, to his jaw line and chin. The touch burned his skin, made him feel sick and violated, and the distant screams of his mother’s pleas echoed in the room. “Too weak to be an auror! Too broken to mingle with your pathetic friends! And too tainted for our dear Draco to look twice at!” Voldemort then shoved Harry head to the side, his chin gripped painfully, before proceeding to trace the scar he’d left there when his Avada Kedavra failed. “Everyone only wants what you can give them Harry, they only want wealth and power … there is only power!” He backhanded Harry’s face. “And you, you are too weak to seek it!” He spat._

_Voldemort aggressively gripped onto Harry’s shoulders then, his nails digging into his skin … pain, indescribably torturous pain shook his entire body, and it bled out from his scar as Voldemort took possession of him._

_Somewhere in the room, beautiful laughter rung out over his screams… but this time, this time Draco was laughing **at** him, at his pain and his suffering. It mocked him, mocked that he ever dared to believe that Draco would love him, want him, be with him…_

_No, he was too tainted … his body violated and corrupt!_

Harry’s screams followed him as he awoke; sweating, tangled in the bed sheets, each breath trembling, and the pain he’d felt in the nightmare… reduced to ghost like shivers along his nerves. The terror still had hold of him, a sickness deep in his gut, and his memories fought to substantiate reality. 

Breathing through the fear and the nausea, he remembered random words – _‘…darkest of times, remember to turn on the light.’_ Light!

He waved his hand setting the fire in the hearth alight, the orange glow revealing his private chamber at Hogwarts. His heart rate settled with the visual proof that he was safe in bed, but his stomach bucked and sent him racing to his en-suite.

**It wasn’t a vision! Tom Riddle – Voldemort, is dead! No one is possessing me! Fuck!**

He repeated those words to himself over and over again – while his stomach repelled the last of his Christmas dinner, while he violently brushed his teeth and stared at his own reflection in the mirror, while he showered away the feeling of being violated, and while he marked homework and essays with a very strong mug of coffee.

There was no way in hell that he’d be able to go back to sleep tonight! 

* * *

On the way to the Great Hall for dinner – having fallen asleep at his kitchen table marking homework, and had therefore missed breakfast and lunch – Harry bumped into Mr Samuel Bartlett, a first year Slytherin, who had literally run into him as he turned the corner.

“Oof!” Harry had managed to steady the boy by grabbing his shoulders, but Harry still managed to be to be subjected to a speeding face colliding into his stomach. “Mr Bartlett! Running, is not permitted in the corridors. I’m afraid I must deduct ten-” Harry suddenly realised that the small, dark-brown haired boy in front of him, was trying valiantly not to cry and had forced his posture to look contrite. “What’s the matter Mr Bartlett?” Harry asked, kneeling down on one knee to be closer to the boy’s eye level.

Samuel shook his head and tried to step around his ‘defence against the dark arts’ teacher, but Harry put his arm out to stop the boy leaving. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll have to take you to your head of house.” Harry waited… but when Samuel said nothing he sighed. “Come with me then!”

Harry went to direct Samuel towards the Great Hall – planning to lead the boy with a hand on his shoulder – thinking that Draco would be there eating dinner, but Samuel shook himself free and a loud ‘ARRK’ sound erupted from the boy’s mouth like the honk of a goose. Samuel covered his mouth with both hands and looked positively horrified.

Harry sighed as realisation hit him. “Have you possibly eaten something of the joke variety Mr Bartlett?” Harry asked, thinking of the Weasley Wizard Wheezes ‘Amazing Animal Assortments.’ It was a product like ‘Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans’, but instead of flavours… you’d be forced to speak like a random animal for at least twenty minutes. 

Mr Samuel Bartlett hesitated before nodding, afraid to open his mouth.

“Alright, wait here!” Harry instructed.

It only took Harry about a minute to enter the Great Hall, notice that Draco wasn’t there, and return to the frightened boy before motioning Samuel to follow him down to the dungeons.

“Don’t worry Mr Bartlett,” Harry spoke on the way down, “if it’s what I think it is, then they only last about twenty minutes.” He was hoping to re-assure the young boy, which judging by the slight relaxing of his stiff posture, he’d succeeded. Something was bothering Harry though… if Samuel had _known_ the effects of the sweet then he wouldn’t have acted so afraid or horrified. “Did someone force or trick you into eating one?” Harry asked.

Samuel hesitated again, but eventually he nodded.

“Okay, we can talk about it when you get your voice back.” Harry smiled, hoping it would put the boy further at ease.

The Slytherins were still reserved in nature, despite the slowly growing house unity, and they certainly didn’t like tattling to the teachers unless it benefited them, so getting the truth from Samuel could be difficult. Despite the changes in interhouse equality, Slytherins were still bullied sometimes for their parents or grandparent’s involvement in the war, and some of the students, like Mr Samuel Bartlett here, had no connection whatsoever, but they were targeted just because they wore green. He was sure that Draco had mentioned how Mr Bartlett was the first Slytherin in his family, and how proud he was of the boy for not only his hard work, but also for the boy’s ability to fit into his house despite coming from a family of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. The unfair judgment of the boy by other house students, still fell into that old notion that ‘all Slytherins were bad’, and it was kept alive because the offspring of death eaters that did actually exist, mostly ended up in that house. It saddened Harry most grievously, and it certainly wasn’t fair. 

Harry knocked on Draco’s office door … but there was no answer. If Draco wasn’t in his office, then he was most likely in his private room seeing as there was no reason for him to be in the potions’ classroom today. They walked in silence to Draco’s private chambers, but again, when he knocked, there was no answer ... until Harry swore that he heard a muffled groan. He knocked louder, listening closer to the door … a sudden wave of concern washed over him when he only heard a loud thump.

“Wait here Mr Bartlett.” Harry instructed, using wandless magic to unlock Draco’s door. Samuel just nodded, but his eyes widened with slight concern.

Harry opened the door slightly, poking his head around the door, and called out Draco’s name. He heard a groan coming from near the sofa. Shutting the door behind him, so that Samuel wouldn’t see into the room, he moved closer to the sound and found Draco sprawled face down on the floor in front of the sofa. Draco was still in his pyjamas – a long-sleeved dark-grey top, with checkered dark-grey trousers.

“Draco?” Harry puzzled why the man was on the floor, concerned when he made no move to get up. It was also rather out of character for the man to be in his pyjamas at this time of the day. 

“W’atsit?” Draco mumbled into the ombre green rug – between the black leather sofa and the antique black coffee table – his voice horse and weak.

Harry didn’t quite know what to make of the strange situation before him, wondering if Draco was drunk, but he bent down and lifted the man off the floor. It was a bit of a struggle to encourage Draco to get up and back onto the sofa, and Harry had no control over the flush that he felt having Draco’s weight pressed against him – being so close physically – but he noticed two things that concerned him in the process: Draco didn’t smell of alcohol, and the man was _freezing_ cold! 

“Potty! You’s a wonder’ull man!” Draco slurred, a slight shiver to his strained voice. He sounded congested, and his literally ice-cold breath made Harry shiver as it blew against his cheek … it took Harry a moment however, to realise that Draco’s breath really was _that_ cold and it wasn’t just the close proximity. Any arousal he was starting to feel was instantly invaded by his growing concern. 

“Right… Draco are you okay?” Harry frowned, feeling Draco’s head once the man was lying down on the sofa. Even Draco’s pale face was freezing cold and ghost white – something was very wrong!

Harry glanced around the room, spotting the knitted sacramento-green throw that rested over the back of the other leather sofa. He grabbed it, and as he was it laying over Draco, he heard the man mumble – “The klapities won’t go away! Make them to go away!” Draco then started crying … _crying,_ and he was burrowing into the sofa and hiding under the blanket that Harry had just put over him.

“Draco, I’ll be right back okay. You just … stay there…” Harry frowned down at the crying man, bewildered and deeply concerned. He left the room in a hurry, intending to fetch Madam Pomfrey as quickly as possible.

As soon as he left the room however, he remembered that Samuel had been waiting for him. “Erm, Dra- Mr Malfoy isn’t feeling to well. I’m going to fetch Madam Pomfrey. Come with me!”

* * *

“I’ll see you down there,” Harry was speaking with Madam Pomfrey, “I just need to have a word with Mr Bartlett.”

Madam Pomfrey nodded before swiftly leaving with her medical bag. Harry turned to face Samuel, who was sitting on one of the beds waiting for him – luckily, the boy had gained back his voice as they had reached the infirmary a couple of minutes ago.

“What happened Mr Bartlett? The truth please.” Harry cut to the chase, eager to find out how Draco was doing.

“I’m okay now. Thank-you for your help Mr Potter.” Samuel nodded and went to get back onto his feet to leave, but Harry gestured for him to stop and to remain seated.

“I need to know what happened so that I can prevent it from happening to others.” Harry said, but then he reminded himself… he wasn’t talking to one of his Gryffindor’s. “What if I make you a deal? I won’t tell anyone except Mr Malfoy what happened, and I won’t take any action that you don’t approve of.”

“So, if I choose for you to let it go, you will?” Samuel asked with caution.

“Yes! But if I just so happened to keep my eyes open a little wider, and I so happened to catch someone going against school rules myself…”

“Then it won’t be linked to me.” Samuel caught on.

“Exactly! So, do we have a deal?”

“Okay.” Samuel sighed, hesitating just a few seconds longer. “It was Mr Monero … and Mr Cray too, I think.”

“My Gryffindors. Why am I not surprised?” Harry shook his head and sighed. “What did they do this time?” 

Samuel looked surprised for a second, that the head of Gryffindor believed him so easily perhaps, but he regained his composure very quickly. “I asked Monero to ‘please pass the steak and kidney pie’. After taking what I wanted they did look a bit suspicious, but I just thought they were being strange. I then noticed something a bit chewy in my pie, and it was then that Monero and Cray started laughing. I went to ask what was so funny and…”

“You made ridiculous animal noises?” Harry finished for him, to which Samuel nodded.

“I was just so embarrassed Mr Potter. I didn’t know what they had done and I wondered how long I would be stuck that way. I didn’t want to give them the satisfaction either.” Samuel shook his head, disappointed in himself for falling for their prank.

“Well, the fact that you bolted from the Great Hall might have already done that I’m afraid. I know how their minds’ work. You are not the only victim of their pranks I can assure you, but do you feel as if you are being targeted, bullied?”

“No! Not really…” A few seconds of silence passed before Samuel continued. “I heard how wonderful Christmas is at Hogwarts, and I choose to stay for the experience, but … I was shocked that I ended up being the only first year… everyone else is third year or up.”

Harry tried to think about what he knew of Slytherin hidden messages… what would be the correct response to a homesick Slytherin?

“Am I to assume, that you at least had fun yesterday?” Harry asked, avoiding what he suspected to be the real issue here – he didn’t want to embarrass the Slytherin boy.

“Yes sir! It’s been amazing really, and that Snowball fight between you and Mr Malfoy was…” Samuel coughed once to regain his composure and reel in his exuberance. “What I meant to say, sir, is that it’s been a rather enjoyable experience despite being the only first year here.”

Harry smiled in understanding, nodding, and wishing that the Slytherin students didn’t have such high expectations on decorum and speech and the like. “Christmas does have a way to unleash immaturity,” Harry said, thinking back to his and Draco’s snow fight, “but at least something good came out of me making a fool of myself yesterday.” He smiled at the boy, glad to see him return the smile – albeit shyly.

Harry knew he should have ended the conversation there, dismissed the boy and made his way down to check on Draco – Merlin only knew how much he wanted to, but it could not be said that he didn’t care about the students.

“As your ‘defence against the dark arts’ teacher, did you learn anything?” 

“Mr Malfoy said that you let your guard down too early, that you became complacent.”

“And what do _you_ think?” Harry asked, wanting the boy to feel valued… important.

“I think … I think that he is right. I think that once we were all on your team, we should have attacked instead of goaded Mr Malfoy. Or, we should have at least used that time to strengthen our shields and defences. Only a few us were needed to take down Mr Malfoy, Lilium and Josephine, the rest of us could have stayed behind barricades or shields and acted as back up.”

“Ten points to Slytherin … just don’t tell Mr Malfoy that, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Samuel truly smiled then, and chuckled under his breath. His features then turned into one of concern. “Is Mr Malfoy okay?”

“I’m sure he just caught a cold or something, he’ll be fine. I best go and check in with Madam Pomfrey however, I did tell her that I would meet her down there.”

Samuel nodded, hopping of the bed, and seemed in better spirits.  
Mission accomplished! 

“Mr Bartlett?” Harry said, as they were leaving the hospital wing together.

“Yes sir?”

“Can I trust you with a secret?”

“Yes sir!”

“On Salazar’s honour?”

Samuel only hesitated for a second, his curiosity obviously getting the better of him. “On Salazar’s honour, I swear I will keep your secret sir.”

It didn’t really bother Harry if Samuel _did_ tell anyone, he would never chastise the boy if he did tell his friends, he just wanted the boy to trust him. Sharing a ‘secret’ was a good way to do that, and for a Slytherin... well, a Slytherin would take the ‘secret’ and use it as a comfort blanket – a sort of ‘I have dirt on my professor’ kinda thing, and it would make the boy feel more comfortable around him. Harry almost shook his head just thinking about how the majority of the Slytherins’ minds worked. 

“I was almost put into Slytherin you know,” Harry stated, “but I begged the hat not to for personal reasons. Hence, I went into Gryffindor. You know our history – of the Slytherin student Tom Marvolo Riddle, who grew up to become evil Lord Voldemort and who was obsessed with trying to kill one Mr Harry Potter. Well, can you blame me for not wanting to be in that house when I was eleven. If I could do it all over…” Harry sighed. “I might have allowed the hat to place me with the snakes.” Harry smiled at Samuel’s shocked face and winked. “I might not be your head of house, but If you ever need someone to talk to my door is always open to you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Samuel nodded. They walked until they were about to go separate ways – Samuel to catch desert in the Great Hall, and Harry to the dungeons. “Sir?”

“Yes Mr Bartlett?”

“The hat considered putting me into Gryffindor, but it said I was slightly more resourceful and ambitious then I was brave and daring.” Samuel then quickly disappeared into the Great Hall.

Harry stood, mildly shocked for a few seconds, then he shook his head and chuckled before rushing of to see if Draco was alright.

* * *

“He has the Snowflu Mr Potter!” Madam Pomfrey explained when Harry finally made it back to Draco private rooms. They were in the living area, Madam Pomfrey having managed to get Draco into his bed.

“Snowflu?” Harry had never heard of such a thing before.

“Sonixies carry the virus in their saliva, he has been bitten by them.” 

“Sonixies?”

“Yes, Sonixies! They are Imperceptible to the naked eye, and are a species of pixie that bite when irritated or angered. If you wish to know more, I suggest you find a book. Right now, I need to visit St Mungo’s and request three vials of the Warmendall potion. It will not cure him, but it will alleviate his symptoms. He shouldn’t be left unsupervised – the drastic drop in body temperature, and the virus itself, causes childlike behaviour and hallucinations, and he must stay as warm as possible. I will have him moved to the infirmary once I’ve administered the Warmendall potion, but can you stay with him until I return?”

“Yes, that’s fine. We don’t have any Warmendall on hand?” Harry knew the question was stupid the moment he asked, but he was worried.

“Oh, of course Mr Potter, we have hundreds of vials but I suddenly feel the need to give myself extra work.” Madam Pomfrey sarcastically responded. “If you must know, we haven’t had a case of Snowflu for years. It is mostly a childhood virus, a virus only young children usually get, but still very rare.”

“If it’s a childhood virus, then why is it affecting him now?” Harry asked, there would always be parts of the wizarding world that eluded him, parts that he had yet to learn about.

“I suspect his deprived childhood…” Madam Pomfrey visibly shook herself, “That is confidential Mr Potter! I must be going!” 

“What shall I do until you return?” He was certainly no medic; he knew counter spells to curses and such things, and his Auror training _had_ covered emergency procedures and spells for deep cuts and broken bones, but viruses and magical illnesses eluded him completely. 

“Like I said, make sure he stays in bed and keeps warm. I shan’t be long.” Madam Pomfrey then made her leave, leaving a clueless Harry alone with a sick Draco.

‘ _Deprived Childhood’_ … What did that mean? Harry wondered to himself as he plopped down in the sofa.

Draco was a spoilt child!

Spoiled yes … … but in the material sense.

He suddenly remembered what his own therapist had said about him – something about his own childhood being deprived by his treatment of his aunt and uncle, his isolation and lack of normal childhood activities and experiences having shunted his development ... and not just physically.

Perhaps the high expectations on Draco to be what his father deemed ‘a Malfoy’ prevented Draco from a normal childhood? Malfoy senior had raised Draco to walk in his father’s shoes, and Draco – as himself or on the parchment as Tau – had mentioned a few times, that he had never done things that Harry would have expected a child to have done; Draco had never been allowed to get messy or dirty, had never been allowed to read books that his father deemed as ‘silly’ or ‘childish’, had never been allowed to cry or show his emotions, and he’d never been allowed to do anything that didn’t please his father and his father’s expectations of a ‘ _proper_ Malfoy heir’. Harry also knew, that Draco felt like his father was never proud of him growing up – nothing every satisfied Malfoy senior, and there was always more that Draco had to learn.

Harry sighed and went to check in on Draco, finding him asleep, and then went back out to sit on the sofa. He was starving, he wondered what having a deprived childhood had to do with Draco catching the Snowflu, and he was still curious about the virus itself… and he was starving! 

“Kreacher!” Harry called, his stomach feeling empty and uncomfortable, making itself known – he would deal with that first. He hadn’t eaten since his Christmas dinner yesterday evening, and seeing as that came up during the early hours of the morning… his body was obviously desperate for sustenance. 

“What can Kreacher do for Master Potter?” The gravel voice of his house elf asked as he appeared with a ‘crack’.

“Could you please get me a dinner Kreacher … and possibly a book that accurately explains what the Snowflu is and what Sonixies are?” He added, killing two bords with one stone, so to speak.

“Kreacher can be doing this for master. Anything else?” The elf asked.

“Actually yes! Can you please inform Professor McGonagall that Mr Malfoy has the Snowflu, and that I have been asked to stay with him by Madam Pomfrey.”  
  
“Very well Master, I’ll be doing that now.” And Kreacher left with another ‘crack’.

* * *

Finally sated by the delicious Hogwarts’ food, Harry sat in the dark-green armchair in Draco’s bedroom, reading from one of the two books that Kreacher had kindly fetched for him. Madam Pomfrey had yet to return, but it hadn’t even been an hour yet so he wasn’t too worried. Minerva had been down to see him while he was eating, asking if he would be willing to make himself available to the Slytherins – should they need their head of house while Draco recovers; Harry had agreed of course. 

He turned the page of the heavy book on wizard illnesses – rather fascinated and shocked by the variety of strange diseases and viruses that were out there – and eventually reached a page on Snowflu:

_Pruinaeostium – more commonly known as ‘the Snowflu’, is a virus transmitted via the saliva of a sonixie (A species of tiny Imperceptible pixies, that live in icy waters or thick snow mounds, and that bite when irritated, angered, or threatened). The Snowflu is most common in younger children due to their enjoyment in ‘playing in snow’, however it is uncommon that sonixies will bite children, as they enjoy watching their childish activities. It can be caught by the older witch or wizard, but most adults do not enjoy the frivolous snow related activities that children do, nor are they likely to ‘bound around’ in the snow like children. Indeed, some adults will have developed an immunity to the virus having been bitten as a young child._

_Symptoms can be mild to severe, and are mostly mild in children. The most common symptoms include: hypothermic body temperature, icy cold skin, icy cold flashes in extremities, lethargy and/or fatigue. These symptoms typically begin within 24hours after being bitten and most last at less 48hours. The cold flashes, however, may last for a week but will gradually reduce in severity. In adults, they may also suffer with hallucinations, frosty breath, and become childish/childlike – most commonly referred to as a drunken state._

_The virus will pass on its own, however, adults and children with the Snowflu are advised to get plenty of rest, drink warm liquids (avoid cold food and drinks), stay warm, and remain in bed. The Warmendall potion will return the body to a safe/normal temperature, but will not prevent the cold flashes of the extremities. Utilizing warming charms of the clothes and bedding of the infected, will also help relieve symptoms. Adults should be monitored more closely, especially if the symptoms of childlike behaviour and hallucinations develop._

_The wizard or witches’ magic will prevent the sudden drop of body temperature from becoming fatal, as long as they stay away from cold sources. In squibs or in those with a low magical level, it is advised that they seek medical attention as soon as possible._

_Avoid bathing or showering until the body can maintain a normal temperature of its own accord: although initially the warmth of the water will help, the process of leaving the water and drying one’s self will only exacerbate the symptoms._

_Complications of the Snowflu may include…_

Harry then heard Draco stirring awake, the quiet groans loud in the silent room. He quickly placed the book down on the floor to check the man was alright.

“Draco?” Harry frowned, watching Draco’s face contort with discomfort, pain, and in confusion.

“Huh?” Draco slurred, his lips blue and shivering along with the rest of him.

“It’s Harry. How are you feeling?” Harry asked, but then he felt rather stupid; he remembered Poppy confirming that Draco had developed the symptoms of hallucinations and childlike behaviour – would the man even be in the right state of mind to sufficiently answer that question? 

“Cold!” Draco groaned, his eyes opening as he reached out to grab at Harry’s arm, looking desperately for relief from the icy sensations cursing through his body.

Harry took Draco’s hand as it went to grab at his sleeve… and it felt _frozen_. He noticed that it was a purple-blue colour, and the nails literally had ice on them. He was quite frankly shocked, startled and near panic as to what to do, but as he stared down at the frozen hand in his own, it suddenly returned to a normal colour, and the nails started dripping where the ice was now melting.

_‘Icy cold flashes in the extremities,’_ Harry remembered reading … Merlin, they were being literal, he realised.

He tucked Draco’s hand under the blanket before re-casting warming charms on the bedding – making sure they held up and were working efficiently. He just hoped Poppy would return soon with that potion; he was totally out of his element, and he worried that he would be useless if things deteriorated. 

Draco’s eyes found Harry’s before they seemed to look behind him … suddenly filling with fear. “C-Ch-Chimera!” He shivered, voice pitched high and pointing at the wall behind Harry.

“No! No there’s nothing there Draco.” Harry tried to soothe him, but Draco went flying backwards out of his bed – taking the blanket with him – and he landed on the floor in a fear filled panic. “Draco!”

Harry rushed around to the other side of the bed, finding the man in a shivering cocoon and breathing heavily.

“Kill it! Kill it!” Draco rocked, repeating the same thing over and over as he panted in fear.

“Draco calm down! Breath…” Harry kept encouraging the man to mimic his breathing and calm down. It seemed to be working, Draco was responding to his voice at least… but Harry wanted to hold him and rub his back or something, take away his pain and discomfort, only, he didn’t want Draco to react badly … or worse. 

Harry was still squatting In front of Draco a few minutes later, still on the floor, when the man finally calmed down enough to _really_ see him. Harry smiled, nodding. He was relieved, he didn’t even know if Draco was allowed a calming drought. “That’s it, Draco. Do you feel like you’re ready to get back into bed?”

“Potter?” Draco asked in confusion, deep frowns marring that perfectly refined face of his.

“Yes, it’s me.” Harry smiled, not realising he was doing so in a way that screamed adoration. “Let’s get you back into bed now!” Harry suddenly demanded, remembering that Draco needed to stay warm. He went to pull Draco of the floor but the blond man flinched away from him, shaking his head in fear.

“It will kill me!” Draco’s fear radiated from his eyes… but at least he wasn’t about to hyperventilate this time – Harry thought.

“You’ll be safe in bed, there nothing here that will hurt you. Come on!” Harry forced Draco to his feet, the blond grudgingly allowing it this time, but his eyes darting around as if he was about to be attacked by some wild beast or something. “That’s in,” Harry continued to encourage, “under the covers. You need to stay warm!”

“Warm…” Draco repeated, as if in a daze all of a sudden, as Harry tucked the man in.

Harry was suddenly overcome with how strange this was, that he was tucking a grown man into bed – a grown man that he had feelings for. Draco was also acting so strange, delirious, delusional… and even though Harry knew it was the Snowflu at least, it was still weird to see the man acting like this. It didn’t help that Harry was clueless on how to help, that his emotions were swirling in a confused manner, and that he was worried… scared really. Yes, he was scared! Scared that Draco’s symptoms were worse than they should be, or that the man was getting worse, or that he was developing symptoms that he shouldn’t be. Even so, he managed to outwardly remain calm – thank Merlin, trying to do his best as he prayed that Poppy would hurry back – he needed to be assured that Draco was okay. 

“Yeah, warm!” Harry insisted, not sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or groan at the dazed look now on Draco’s face... it reminded him of Luna actually, but it had no business being on Draco’s face. 

“But I don’t wanna go to bed.” Draco’s sleepy voice sounded so childish. Well, Harry thought… that would be the childlike symptoms. 

“I’ll stay with you.” Harry said, sitting on the bed in an attempt to keep Draco in it. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle though … his mind _helpfully_ reminded him that he’d have given anything to be taking Draco to bed … but certainly not like this!

Be careful what you wish for!

Harry shook himself, making sure that the charms to keep the bedding warm were still working, and were still applied to his clothes and pillow as well.

“Are you laughing at me Potter?” Draco snapped, pouting slightly – Merlin, that pout almost made Harry laugh, especially with how foolish the man now sounded.

Harry had to remember that he could essentially be dealing with a sensitive child at the moment, and he had to be careful with what he said. “No! No. I was just thinking about something funny. Why don’t you close your eyes? You’ll feel better if you do.” Harry smiled, trying to placate and soothe the man that was obviously hallucinating … hallucinating about scary beast and in the mindset of a child. “You know … if you see something scary, it just wants to say hi. It won’t hurt you.”

“That Chimera didn’t look friendly!” Draco whined in obvious incredulity. “Where did it go?” Draco suddenly sat up again in fear, looking around in a desperate need to reassure himself of his safety, but Harry gently pushed Draco back down.

“It left because you scared it away.” Harry said, cursing himself – he felt like he was just fucking this up and making it worse... he sounded like bloody imbecile! 

“I scared it?” Draco whined in incredibility, his eyes wide in disbelief. “Father said they’re vicious, bloodthirsty beast!”

Well, If Harry had needed – and he certainly hadn’t – further confirmation that Draco was ill and out of his mind, that was it right there; Draco never would have condoned his behaviour by using his father’s teachings… well, not anymore at least.

“Yes, they _can_ be … but this one isn’t.” Harry tried, still feeling like a bloody simpleton. As many dreams and visions that he’d secretly envisioned, of a life with Draco, not once had he imagined having to care for the man as if he were a child. “Will you trust me? Will you tell me if you see something else, and try not to be scared of it?” Harry asked. “I won’t let anything hurt you.” He added.

“Okay.” Draco nodded, his eyes drooping as fatigue took over his ailing body.

Harry sighed in relief, watching Draco as he appeared to be sleeping… but then Draco’s breathy voice mumbled… “I think you’re won’erful!”

Harry snorted. “Is that so?” He asked, wondering why the book never mentioned the fluctuation of moods and the changes in behaviour: Draco went from tired, sleepy, and hazy, to scared, loud, and childish… and the childlike behaviour ranged in ages from young child to moody teenager.

“You’re ‘ery han’some.” Draco murmured, his eyes still closed … but then he groaned and opened his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Harry frowned, instantly snapping out of his amusement.

“My foot ‘urts … cold!” Draco moved his right foot, a look of pain on his face.

Harry lifted the blanket to take a look: Draco’s right foot was now a purple-blue colour, with frozen, icy nails… just like his hand had been. Harry got off the bed to find some socks for Draco, not really knowing what else he could do to help the man.

“Don’t go!” Draco whined fearfully. “What if that C-Chimera comes back?”

“You need some socks.” Harry explained, finding them in the bottom draw of the chest of draws. “Here, let me put these on you.” Harry said, not waiting for an answer.

Harry noticed the foot returning to its normal colour as he slid the sock onto it, and after placing one onto the other foot, he added a heating charm to them before returning the blanket.

Despite his worry regarding Draco’s health and wellbeing, the action of dressing Draco – even just his socks – made him think of undressing the man … and wasn’t that just fucked up! Even though it was a fleeting image, a secret desire he’d had for weeks, he felt betrayed by his mind that it would remind of that _now_. Of all the times to be reminding him! What the fuck was wrong with him?

He sat back in the armchair, pulling it a little closer to bed, and watched as Draco finally drifted back off to sleep. Ill or not, the man was still handsome, perfect, and someone he desired fervently with his body, mind, and soul. Right now, however… Harry was just worried about him. He sighed - trust Draco to catch the Snowflu!

_‘Deprived Childhood’_ …

Could Draco have been deprived of the joys of snow when he was a child? Perhaps it was too frivolous and ‘silly’ an activity for a Malfoy child to play in the snow. Too loud, boisterous, and childish? Even Harry had been able to play in the snow on rare occasions – always on his own though… unless Dudley and his friends were using him as the target of course. Harry frowned as he thought deeper, remembering more of his therapist’s words…

_“It doesn’t surprise you that a twenty-year-old is admitting he wants his **daddy**?” Harry snapped, ashamed that he had even admitted that – he had actually used the word ‘father’ originally._

_“Not at all. Do not be ashamed Mr Potter! You have never had a steady father figure in your life, never received the necessary comfort, praise, and genuine affection that a child **needs** from those that are meant to love and care for them. These are things that enable a child to learn affection, self-identity, self-worth and self-esteem for example. All are **very** important and necessary things needed in order to grow into a healthy adult … and I don’t just mean physically Mr Potter! You have been denied these things, and as such you still seek them on a subconscious level.” _

_“But I’m twenty-years-old. I’ve never needed anyone before, I certainly don’t now!”_

_“You have been deprived of something that every single child **needs** growing up. Whether you are willing to accept it yet or not, it has left a hole, a deep-rooted need to be loved and accepted for who you are. Often when a child is deprived of necessities, and for so long, it leaves invisible damage. No matter how in denial, stubborn, or adamant we are that we are ‘fine’ or ‘okay’, the truth is … you are not. Not emotionally!” _

Harry shook himself from his thoughts, he hated being reminding of how damaged he was. The therapy _had_ helped him - surprisingly, and it _had_ made a great difference, but he still hated thinking back on them sessions.

He looked over at Draco and wondered … If Draco was deprived of so much as a child, what damage had been left from it? Harry was no therapist, and he knew that everyone was different and that he couldn’t use his own therapy to analyse the man, but … Draco had been through so much that it had to have left a mark. 

Draco suddenly coughed then, making Harry jump out of his skin. Merlin!

Harry pulled the blanket up to Draco’s neck, checking on the warming charms for the umpteenth time, and he was wondering if there was anything else he could do, when Draco sneezed… sneezed a bloody mini snow flurry that caused the blanket to literally freeze over solid!  
  
Fuck!

Harry banished the blanket to living room in a panic, yelling for Kreacher. “Find me some thick blankets!” He demanded of his house elf, and watching Draco shiver violently he snapped – “Quickly!”

Kreacher ‘cracked’ out, sensing the urgency – his master never yelled at him unless it was urgent.

“Cold!” Draco mumbled as he woke up, hissing, his teeth chattering violently.

“It’ll be fine in a second Draco, just hold on a minute yeah!” Harry said, rubbing Draco’s arms in an attempt to warm up the man, even if just a fraction.

Draco then sneezed a second time, catching Harry of guard… lucky however, Draco’s head bobbed towards his chest or Harry would have ended up with a frozen face. Unfortunately, however, Draco had just frozen his own Pyjama top! 

“Bloody hell Draco!” Harry panicked for a moment before mentally slapping himself. He’d just have to bite his tongue and remove Draco’s top!

Harry’s hand shook slightly, so he used his wand to removed Draco’s pyjama top. Kreacher ‘cracked’ back in at that moment, buried under a pile of blankets.

Draco – blankets – top – Kreacher – Draco – blankets – Draco – Top!

His brain was so scattered right now! Cursing his panicked brain, he rushed to find a top first and foremost … any fucking top! _‘Why were there no bloody tops?’_ He internally screamed as he searched through Draco’s draws. “Top, top, top…” He mumbled.

“TOP!” He practically shouted when he found one, rushing back to the bed.

Kreacher had already, by this time, covered Draco with two of the blankets and was tucking him in. As Harry sat on the bed, holding the black pyjama top in his hand, he felt the heat radiate around him.

“Kreacher?” Harry asked in confusion. His breathing was slightly increased from his mini panic, but he was calming himself down now.

“Mister Malfoy has the Snowflu Master Potter. He must not be getting cold!” Kreacher drawled.

“Yes, I know! Poppy has gone to get the Warmendall potion.” Harry said, forcing the pyjama top onto Draco’s body. Draco blinked, seemingly in a haze again, but he was slowly looking around the room. “What did you do to make the bed so warm?” Harry asked Kreacher, not taking his eyes off Draco.

“What I did for old master Regulus when he was five.” Kreacher said, and Harry’s head snapped to face him.

Harry’s mind had gone from Regulus to Sirius in an instant: the locket, Grimmauld Place… the department on mysteries…

_Sirius was laughing… laughing at Bellatrix. “Come on, you can do better than that!” he yelled at her._  
  
Flashes – lights – and then he was gone… sinking back through the veil behind him, his eyes widened in shock as he fell.

_“- it’s too late, Harry.” – Remus’ voice, between his own screaming._

Harry fought hard to pay attention as Kreacher continued... fought to listen, unless he wished to sink into the past.

“He’d been playing … snow … nasty Sonixies bite him they did.”

Yes, he blinked… Kreacher… Draco!

“I was the one ordered to watch over him.” Kreacher finished. 

“I see,” Harry said, grounding himself in the present, and ignoring the echoes of the past, “but what spell did you use?” Harry asked, now keeping his eyes on Draco.

“Not a spell Master Potter, Elf magic!” Kreacher answered.

Well, that didn’t fucking help him, now did it! Harry just shook his head, making sure Draco was tucked in, snug, under the two thick blankets. For good measure, he applied warming charms to them too.

“Thank-you Kreacher! I have no idea what I’m doing.” He admitted.

“Just keep Mr Malfoy warm.” Kreacher said unhelpfully before ‘cracking’ out.

“Just brilliant.” Harry sarcastically muttered, but at least Kreacher’s magic had made the bed feel like a greenhouse in the peak of summer. 

* * *

Thankfully, Poppy had returned not long after Kreacher had left, with a case of Warmendall potions ready to go.

Draco had twitched and groaned in pain when the icy cold flashes affected his extremities, complaining that it was cold, that it hurt and stung, but otherwise, his body temperature had returned to a normal heat range. 

Once the potion had been given time to settle into his system properly, Draco was levitated up to the hospital wing on a stretcher. Harry had offered to stay with Draco, so that he didn’t have to be moved to the infirmary – especially when Draco started begging him to stay – but Poppy insisted he needed to be there under her care. Harry gave in, a part of him relieved because he wouldn’t have known what to do anyway, but he promised a _crying,_ childish Draco, that he would visit him.

It was on his way back to his own chambers, feeling rather guilty for leaving Draco in the infirmary like that, that he realised his care for the man ran a lot deeper than he had thought possible.

He wanted to rush back to the infirmary and stay by his bedside until he was recovered, to make sure he _would_ recover. It was foolish, to be as worried as he was; the virus wasn’t life threatening to a powerful wizard like Draco, and he would be more then okay with Poppy looking after him. He was just being unreasonably protective of the man, and seeing him so vulnerable in that childlike state… it must have just triggered his foolishness.

Childlike state? Childish…

Draco was always childish, even as a child he was immature for his age. Harry always just assumed that was because he was a spoiled brat. Even now though … Draco had waves, episode, of being extremely immature – just like Harry had episodes of uncontrollable emotions or emotional outbursts.

Deprived childhood? Deprived…

Wait?

Was Draco sometimes rather childish because he was deprived of childhood experiences? Just like he – himself, was sometimes emotional because he was deprived of being able to express his emotions as a child, and Just like he – himself, subconsciously craved love and acceptance because he was deprived of it?

Harry shook his head; it was giving him a headache just thinking about it.

He reached the door to his own private chamber and went inside. It didn’t really matter either way, Draco was Draco… and he loved the man faults and all. They were both the way they were – both fucked up because of their families misguided beliefs and actions, and both of them had issues deeper that the bloody ocean.

He suspected that he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight… he’d be far too worried about Draco, and the echoes of his past still whispered in the night air.


	18. Draco’s dilemma and delusions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At risk of a spoiler, I wish to warn my dear readers that this chapter contains a scene where Draco scratches himself rather harshly. It falls under self harm, but for Draco, it isn't really intended as self-harm. Please ask if you need more info. And comment if you liked the chapter. XD

“Mr Potter?” Madam Pomfrey’s rather unimpressed voice, startled him awake…

Awake?  
  
Harry lifted his head, blinking as he repositioned his glasses, realising he had indeed fallen to sleep at Draco’s bedside. His back ached from the position he’d been in – his head resting on the bed while still sitting in the red armchair he’d conjured.

“What time is it?” Harry mumbled, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses; he hated falling asleep in his glasses, they either ended up bent or broken, or they left marks on his face, but luckily, they seemed fine this time around.

“It’s four-thirty-five in the morning Mr Potter, and YOU are NOT above the rules of visiting hours!” She reproached him in her loudest whisper, hands on her hips, and her tone harsh and cutting.

“Sorry,” Harry apologised sheepishly, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Standing up, Harry began to make his hasty retreat – before he suffered anymore of the angry healer’s wrath. It was true; he’d finally fallen asleep after tossing and turning in bed for ages – worried about a certain blond haired potions teacher, only to be woken up half an hour later by nightmares. 

“That does _not_ give you special rights to doss around in my hospital wing, well outside visiting hours I might add! I suggest warm milk and honey Mr Potter … … Well get out then!” She shooed him.

Harry fled the hospital wing like a scolded child caught with their parent’s wand; the matron could be bloody scary sometimes. 

Madam Pomfrey, on the other hand, tutted as Harry left her hospital wing, shaking her head as she turned to face her patient with a knowing smile gracing her lips.

“He cares a great deal about you, you know?” Madam Pomfrey whispered, more to herself than anything, since she knew that Draco was deep asleep and would remain so until the morning at least. Thank Merlin for sleeping draughts – it would have been impossible to keep the man in bed otherwise, and he needed the sleep. 

Shaking her head as she returned to her office and private chamber, she thought back to the 1990’s – the fierce rivalry between Harry and Draco was almost iconic, but now look at them … who would have guessed it?

* * *

It was immensely warm, so warm that he wanted to return to his slumber – – but his left hand stung painfully, especially when he tried to move it. Biting back a groan, he blinked his eyes open only to shut them again when the light nearly blinded him. He tried again, opening his lids slowly until his eyes adjusted to the bright white light – _the damn hospital wing_! He defiantly groaned out loud that time. 

“Good morning Mr Malfoy, I have potions here for you.” Madam Pomfrey sauntered over, placing the potions down on the bedside cabinet.

With his mind still foggy, and felling rather congested with a slight headache, he suddenly felt his back being propped up against the cushions – forcing him upright.

“Take this!” Madam Pomfrey ordered, handing over a potion he didn’t recognise – which was strange, he was a potions master!

“What is it?” He mumbled. Pride be damned; he wouldn’t consume some unknown potion.

“The Warmendall potion. You have the Snowflu Mr Malfoy, remember?” Madam Pomfrey informed him, impatiently shoving the vial into his hand. 

So, this obviously wasn’t the first time Poppy had informed him of his illness, but he didn’t remember that … in fact he didn’t even remember how he’d gotten to the hospital wing in the first place. Losing one’s memory, was never a comforting thought, but perhaps his brain fog would abate once he’d had time to wake up properly.   
  
Well, at least he knew what the Warmendall potion was, not that he’d had a reason to see it before – nor had he ever brewed it. He trusted Poppy however, so he did as he was instructed. 

He wrinkled his face at the disgusting, burning taste as the potion went down the hatch. The sensation it caused was not unlike Firewhisky, but the heat radiated outwards from his stomach until it had pervaded his entire body. He felt so hot, yet his hands, his feet and his other extremities were still painfully cold. He’d heard of the Snowflu, but wasn’t it a virus that children caught from diminutive pixies? He went to make his inquiries, but Poppy was handing him yet another potion. 

“Now this one, then you can have your breakfast!” Madam Pomfrey instructed in her no-nonsense attitude.

As Poppy handed him the vial, he recognised it as a mild pain reducing draught and assumed that it was to reduce the stinging that he was suffering in his extremities. He downed the potion quickly, relieved when his symptoms started to alleviate… but they didn’t go away completely. 

“Swotty!” Madam Pomfrey called for one of the house elves that were familiar with her requirements. “Breakfast for Mr Malfoy please Swotty, no Lupine. A level two FGI should suffice.” 

Swotty bowed before leaving to follow her orders. A level two FGI (for general illness), was simply a small breakfast for someone that hadn’t eaten much due to being unwell, or for someone that couldn’t stomach much due to an illness. It was to be something light, small, and easy for someone recovering. If a particular diet was otherwise required, Madam Pomfrey would be more specific – the reminder that Draco was allergic to Lupine, was just a small example of this. 

Madam Pomfrey then turned to face Draco again, observing him for changes in symptoms, health… and mentality.   
  
Draco frowned, why was she looking at him like that – as if she expected him to bolt from the room or something?  
  
“How are you feeling now?” She asked him hesitantly.

“My extremities are still cold.” He complained, feeling as if he should be treated like the Malfoy he was. He was rather surprised by his own rising superiority, but suddenly, it became _more_ confusing that he _hadn’t_ been demanding better treatment beforehand.

“Yes well, we can only reduce the pain I’m afraid. No potion will be able to stop the cold flashes entirely.” Madam Pomfrey explained, she knew that Draco had suddenly regressed in age, again – not something she enjoyed at all. “You will just have deal with it until it passes.”

“That’s not good enough! I demand something better or my father will hear about this!” Draco threatened. He hissed as his right foot started smarting from the frosty sensation that was growing there.

“Unless your father knows how to brew a potion that doesn’t exist yet, I feel your efforts will be in vain.” She replied, deciding not to mention his father’s imprisonment – Draco was confused right now, so that news would not go over well at all.

 _‘It’s going to be a very long Monday.’_ – Poppy thought, ignoring Draco’s protests as she walked back to her office.

* * *

  
“My father will hear about this!”

Harry heard as he entered the hospital wing Tuesday Morning, greeted with the scene of a furious Draco shouting at Madam Pomfrey… again. 

“Mr Malfoy, you will eat that food or I will bind you–”

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, reaching Draco’s bed. He put his bag onto the floor, along with the box he had been carrying. 

“Mr Malfoy,” Poppy started, turning to face Harry – for once, she was glad he was here, “Is refusing to eat and will, apparently, be telling his father about it.”

‘Ah.’ – Harry thought, nodding his understanding; Draco kept referring to his father when he regressed in age, and it was almost as if he was subconsciously missing the man. It was strange that Lucius Malfoy was always the one that Draco mentioned when unaware of his present feeling and memories. 

“I _always_ have Pancakes and ice-cream when feeling under the weather!” Draco insisted. Sometimes his mother would even ask the house elves to spread a little chocolate onto his pancakes too. His father would complain that Mother spoiled him, but he let her do it regardless… his parents loved him. 

Harry looked at Draco, he was sitting there pouting angrily with his arms crossed in defiance. He noticed the bowl of runny hot porridge, the berries on top of it, and the rather dry toast that sat on a plate next to the bowl. It certainly wasn’t pancakes and ice-cream.

“He still has the childish symptoms then?” Harry asked Poppy. “It’s been about thirty-eight hours. Shouldn’t they have lessened by now?” 

Draco had been brought into the infirmary Sunday evening; it was now Tuesday morning. Harry had visited the man for hours yesterday, but Madam Pomfrey had given him a sleeping draught in the end because the man kept hallucinating and panicking – the calming draughts hadn’t helped either, and Draco kept getting out of bed. When he hadn’t been panicking, he had been complaining; Draco kept threatening to report them both to his father, and although Harry had chuckled, Madam Pomfrey was at the end of her tether – especially with the fluctuation of Draco’s acting age. 

“He appeared to be his old self when he first woke up, I suspect his symptoms will be spasmodic until her recovers fully. It seems he no longer suffers with hallucinations at least.”

Draco had been listening, and he was becoming indignant, angry, that were talking _about_ him. He was right there! How rude of them! However, before he could express his feelings on that, he felt a wave of safety wash over him… Harry was here!

“Harry!” Draco said, a beaming smiling overcame his face. Harry was so kind, wonderful, safe. Harry would get him Pancakes!

“Hey Draco, how are you feeling?” Harry asked, unsure to which Draco he would get today. 

Madam Pomfrey excused herself, quite happy to leave Harry dealing with the unstable Malfoy. Harry nodded, and returned his attention to the man. Draco responded better in Harry presence, and Harry didn’t quite know how he felt about that. Radiant, that Draco trusted and preferred his company? Bittersweet, that Draco only clang to him because he wasn’t mentally unstable? Perhaps he should feel more aggrieved that Draco only wanted him when he was ill. 

“I’d feel better if I didn’t have to eat this slop!” Draco complained.

“Well, you can’t have ice-cream because it will make your cold hands and feet worse. You need to eat something warm, like that porridge.” Harry explained, pointing to the tray that sat on the table at the bottom of the bed.

“Eugh!” Draco scrunched up his face. 

“You don’t like Porridge?” Harry asked as he sat in the armchair that was still there for him.

“Not this slop! There isn’t even any honey in it.”

“What if we got you some honey?” Harry asked, trying to pacify a childish Draco Malfoy.

It was confusing how protective he felt towards the man right now. Whenever Draco regressed in age, Harry had the sudden urge to… what? Parent the man? Any other time he’d been in the man’s company – when Draco _wasn’t_ unwell, he’d wanted to do very illicit things to the delectable body that lay hidden beneath the clothes… wanted to kiss the man into yielding to him... into forgetting about Padfoot and just choosing him instead.

“And cinnamon?” Draco asked, unaware of Harry’s whirling thoughts, and hesitantly deciding that it wouldn’t be so bad if he could get honey _and_ cinnamon. He would eat it for Harry… Harry made him feel special. Harry cared about what he wanted.

Harry chuckled. “And cinnamon, yes. Would you eat it then?”

Draco nodded, so Harry went to check with Poppy that honey and cinnamon wouldn’t affect the potions that Draco had taken.

Draco waited for Harry to come back, but he slowly grew confused. Wasn’t his father in prison? Wasn’t he just a vile, corrupted Death Eater now? Tearing back the sleeve of his pyjamas, he stared at the fading dark mark there – the confirmation that he was indeed tainted. That mark represented who he really was, the darkness that flowed in his veins, the errors of his past… he didn’t want it!

Draco started scratching at the mark – maybe he could scratch it away, maybe if he removed it he could be worthy of Harry’s affections. 

He didn’t feel the pain as his skin torn beneath his nails. He didn’t blink when it started to bleed. He didn’t notice as tears fell from his eyes in his desperate need to erase the evidence of his sinful past.

“Draco NO!” Harry shouted, rushing over and stopping him. What on earth had possessed Draco to such actions? Harry knew he hated the Dark Mark, but it was telling how much he despised it if he was willing to hurt himself trying to remove it in such a way. It upset him how delirious, how confused Draco had become so suddenly, and something had stricken the man’s mind to draw such a response. Harry wondered what Draco had remembered, had thought about… 

“I have to!” Draco repeated, fighting to get out of Harry’s sudden hold – trying to return his actions of removing the taint from his skin. “I have to!” He screamed.

“Why?” Harry asked, holding Draco tightly against his chest as the man cried out his protests.

“I want you!” Draco cried, sobbing into Harry shirt as he realised his fighting was futile.

“What?” Harry asked, wondering if he’d heard wrong.

“What’s going on?” Madam Pomfrey asked, not waiting for an answer when she saw the blood on Draco’s left arm. She instantly rushed away to fetch the healing salve and a bandage.

Harry didn’t ask Draco again, not wanting Poppy to overhear them, and he rubbed at Draco’s back to calm the man down. “It’s okay Draco. It’s going to fine. You don’t need to hurt yourself!” 

Draco continued to cry, not saying anything, and not even when Poppy came over to treat the scratches and broken skin did Draco utter another word. He just let her treat him in silence, his tears drying on his cheeks. Poppy had asked what had happened, but Draco had gone so deathly silent, just staring down at his own lap, that they were worried about him. 

“I think he just remembered that he had the dark mark.” Harry explained, not sure that was all it was.

“I noticed old scars there.” Poppy admitted quietly, glancing at the still form of Draco worriedly.

“He doesn’t – He just – I think he must have done that years ago. I really don’t think it’s something he still does. If I had to guess, I’d say he did that not long after the war. He probably just wanted to remove the mark… nothing else.”

Harry hoped that was the case – it wasn’t like Draco had scars like that anywhere else. No, Harry truly believed that Draco just wished he could remove the Dark mark from his arm… that he could remove such a glaring reminder of his past misdeeds. It was likely that the man had realised that it couldn’t be removed and had given up trying… perhaps, in more ways than one.

Draco always said that the Mark was a constant reminder. Harry had started to realised that it was more than that… It was an anchor to the past, and anchor that prevented Draco from moving on with his life, from embracing his future. Harry could understand how such a strong hold would be abhorrent, it would be to himself if he were in Draco’s shoes. Why wouldn’t a person do anything to remove the shackles that bound you; he’d read horrible stories of Wizards removing their own limbs to escape their captors. He was thankful that Draco had never become so desperate that he had removed his own arm – – But would that even work? Would the mark perhaps move to another limb? Did Draco know this? 

“Keep an eye on him.” Poppy said. Harry nodded, returning to Draco’s bedside once Poppy returned to her office.

One of the house elves had left some honey and cinnamon while Poppy had been treating Draco’s arm. Harry used it to start up a conversation.

“Well, “Harry said, hoping to get a reaction from the blond, “we have Honey!” Draco slowly turned his head to look at him, and then he looked down at the breakfast tray that Harry had just slipped onto his lap. “Come on,” Harry encouraged, trying to forget what Draco had said during his hysteria, “You really do need to eat something.”

“Harry?” Draco frowned. He was confused again; why did he feel so downcast and miserable? “What’s?” Draco shook his head. He remembered scratching at his arm, but he couldn’t remember why he had the sudden impulse to do so. It had been years since he’d tried to disfigure or removed the mark in such a way. 

“The Snowflu is certainly sending you for a loop huh?” Harry asked, smiling sadly. This was a symptom they’d discovered that hadn’t been mentioned in the books – lapses in memory. Poppy suggested that the adult mind did so because it couldn’t cope with the fluctuations in his mental age, that the virus was temporarily affecting the brain. It made sense, was a good theory, but it wasn’t easy to watch.

“The Snowflu?” Draco repeated.

“Yeah. You’ll be right as rain soon.” Harry assured him, nodding. “You were brought here Sunday evening. It’s Tuesday morning now. The symptoms are supposed to last about forty-eight hours.”

“Symptoms?” Draco’s asked.

Harry wondered if Draco was himself right now, or at least close to his real age. He seemed calmer, more mature, but he was still dubious of Draco’s state of mind.

“Your extremities – hands, feet, face, are going to feel really cold sometimes.”

“I’m not a child Harry! I do know what extremities are.” Draco then picked up the spoon on his tray and started to eat his porridge. “Eugh! It’s bloody bland.” He complained, adding some of the honey and Cinnamon he then spotted on the tray.

Harry chuckled.

“What? I’m bloody starving!” Draco said. “I don’t starve myself like you seem content to do. I don’t skip meals!” 

Harry sighed – “I don’t skip meals Draco. I eat in my room. Kreacher brings–”

“Food to your room.” Draco interrupted. “Yes, you said. I’m just not sure I believe you.” Draco admitted, returning to his porridge now that it had been sweeten at least.

“You can ask Kreacher if you like.” Harry said, wondering how this had turned onto his own eating habits.

“If I did, would he tell me that you eat three meals a day?” Draco asked pointedly.

“Not exactly.” Harry admitted. “I just don’t need that much food – okay!” It was true, he’d always eaten little and been content. He hadn’t felt the true pains of hunger for years, just the typical, over used phrase that many meant when they said ‘I’m starved, I could eat a horse!’ So many people said that, but they’d never experienced real hunger.

‘ _Cupboard now! No meals!’ Vernon ground out in his rage. Harry just didn’t understand why he’d not been hurt when Dudley had ‘accidentally’ shoved him down the stairs, or why the wooden post at the bottom seemed to have moved, but arguing was always futile._

 _Vernon had meant to starve him for three days – knowing that the body could last ages without food but only three days without water. Petunia had slipped him a small cup of water and a piece of stale bread once a day, and it always feed that futile desire to one day be loved, or at least accepted by his aunt. She’d even let Harry out to use to the bathroom, arguing with Vernon that she didn’t want the smell infecting her home… but Harry had believed that there was a tiny,_ _diminutive amount of concern there for him… if only he could prove that he was worth it…_

“Harry?”

“Sorry, what did you say?” Harry asked, looking into concerned grey eyes.

“You went somewhere didn’t you?” Draco asked, knowing that Harry had one of his mind haze episodes.

“Yeah. Kind of.” Harry admitted, but he said no more. What could he say?

“It’s obvious that your eating habits are not healthy Potter – – Harry. I’d like to know why that is… I won’t pressure you into telling me, but I am curios.” Draco admitted. He had his theories; Harry had said that his life with his muggle relatives wasn’t exactly splendid, and that made him wonder if they had been poor and unable to afford food, or if they had withheld food from Harry. Had Harry been abused while the world thought their saviour was pampered and loved?

“I’m not ready to talk about it.” Harry said, not denying that Draco was right. “I really don’t think it’s much of issue though. I do eat Draco! Just because I eat when I feel like it, and not three perfect meals a day, doesn’t mean I’m starving myself.”

“No. That’s not what I meant. I just wondered what happen to cause your absurd eating habits. You eat small amounts, when you feel hungry, I presume, and you eat a lot of meat. You rarely join us in the Great Hall for meals, and you always seem to wait until everyone else starts eating before you do.”

Harry blinked in shock, taken aback; the fact that Draco had noticed so many of his idiosyncrasies was both endearing and alarming… disturbing in fact. He hadn’t thought about his habits as a whole before, never thought about what they would look like to people around him.

“It’s fine.” Draco said, finishing his bowl of porridge and sucking his spoon clean. “Maybe you’ll tell me one day, maybe you won’t. Like I said I’m just – Aughhh!”

Draco dropped his spoon as the hand holding it turned blue. The spoon fell onto the floor and clattered while Draco grimaced in pain. Looking down at the ice on his nails, the frost that covered his fingers, Draco frowned in alarm – “What in Salazar’s name?”

“It’s a symptom of the Snowflu.” Harry explained. “It will pass in a moment. Here!” Harry took the corner of the blanket, wrapped it around Draco’s right hand, and added the strongest warming charm he could.

Draco sighed as the heat seemed to help, even if only slightly. “Thanks.” He said, but frowned once again in shock. “So, that’s normal?” He’d felt the same symptoms in his feet, but he hadn’t realised that they had literally frozen! 

“Afraid so. Your extremities will sufferer from ‘icy cold flashes’ sometimes. You should be fine to leave the hospital wing tomorrow, but the cold flashes might last about five more days.” Harry explained.

“What the hell are you on about Potter!” Draco snapped.

Harry was taken aback for a few seconds, before sighing – Here we go again! Draco had regressed in age once more.

* * *

“Aughhh! My head.” Draco complained Wednesday morning to a bossy Poppy. Such bizarre memories were circling in his usually organised mind – some that were horrifyingly embarrassing, and there were also periods that were just totally blank. He’d been reminded of his illness the moment he’d woken up, the bloody Snowflu of all things, and he blamed Potter! It was all Harry bloody Potter’s fault that he’d been in the hospital wing since Sunday evening. 

“It’s to be expected. Now drink this one as well, it will help with the pain.” Poppy said, shoving another vial into his hand. “It’s good to have you back.” She admitted. “Ah, Harry! Right on time. He’s free to go.”

Draco looked up, and sure enough the cause of his distress had entered the hospital wing.

“Hey! I brought the clothes you asked for.” Harry said, placing the black trousers, boxers, white shirt, and black robes onto the bed with the equally black shoes and socks. Why Draco insisted in looking like he was attending an important meeting all the time baffled him.

Draco didn’t remember asking for clean clothes, but he wouldn’t begrudge himself of them – clean clothes to him right now, were as wonderful as water would be to a man dying of thirst. A shower would be the crowning glory. Still…

“This is all your fault Potter!” Draco complained, taking the clothes.

“My fault?” Harry asked, snorting at such welcome. “How do you figure?”

“You had to start that damn snow fight, didn’t you? If I recall correctly, and I _do_ , you levitated about thirty pounds on snow onto my head.” Draco reminded him of his delinquency, climbing off the bed now that his headache had dimmed to a mild throb. He found his wand on the bedside cabinet. 

“You certainly got your own back, what with the Hippogriff sized tidal wave you dumped on me!” Harry argued.

“Like you just said, retaliation. I never started it!” Draco made his way over the shower room, Harry followed him.

“You certainly enjoyed it though.” Harry said, standing in the way of the door – preventing Draco from closing it.

Their bodies were rather close, reminding Draco of Harry’s disastrous interest in him, and in turn, reminding himself that he was falling in love with the raven-haired man. Preposterous!

“Unless you plan on aiding me in the shower…” Fuck – Draco thought, wrong choice of words! “Which I sincerely warn you against even thinking about, then I suggest you move away from the door.”

Harry sighed in feigned remorse. “Well now, how am I not supposed to think about it when you paint such a lovely picture with those elegant words of yours.” Harry smirked.

“Get lost Potter!” Draco shoved Harry away from the door, slamming it closed behind him and locking it. He could hear Harry chuckling on the other side – the damn prat was enjoying this.

Eventually Draco stood under the raining shower head, warmth cascading over him. The simple luxury of a shower that had been denied to him, on account of his illness, was now perfectly divine… much like bloody Potter!

Harry was a divinity in his own right, an icon of hope, and a symbol of triumph and peace. Harry was the dawn that drove away the night, the warmth that could melt glaciers, and an addiction that wouldn’t abate.

Harry had cared for him, been there through his illness, and oh how he hated him for that… for now he couldn’t deny that he was doomed – he just couldn’t imagine feeling this way for Padfoot. He could settle for the mystery man behind the words, and indeed, he did feel a great attraction to him, but he suspected that what he’d deprived himself of feeling thus far, was far too great to ever let go off; his heart may never let go of Harry bloody Potter, not now that it had tasted the forbidden fruit.

As he spread the soap over his pale skin, he remembered such embarrassing moments from the last few days - his subconscious mind and desires acting out while his conscious ability was suppressed by his illness. He remembered demanding that Harry stayed with him, feeling safer when the man was there – certainly not something he’d ever humiliate himself admitting in the right state of mind. He remembered Harry taking care when wiping his face with a damp cloth, brushing back his hair from his face… perhaps believing him to be asleep at the time. He remembered many things, things that he would rather forget, but the worse memory – and the one that caused him the most anguish – was when he nearly admitted that he had feelings for Harry yet couldn’t act on them because he was tainted.

He found himself removing the now soaked bandage. The scratches had healed leaving the faded dark mark glaring up at him, and the old scars reminding him. Nothing had been able to remove it, and Salazar had he tried, he was forever left with a brand that whispered and screamed in torment – the ghostly voices of his victims of torture, the victims he had witnessed murdered, the echoes of his past. He still felt the phantom pain of being called to Voldemort’s side. All the wrong that he committed, all the mistakes and regrets of his past… it was forever there for the world to see…. There for him to never forget!

His tears ran with the warmth of the water, another allegory for his life perhaps – that his pain and his past, would always corrupt any happiness he found in life.

He washed, he rinsed, and he cleaned his body meticulously… but nothing could remove the Dark mark.

“Draco?” Harry called. “Draco are you okay?”

He had no idea how long he had been in the shower, but Fuck, Harry was _still_ there… waiting for him. Harry would be waiting a long time, because Draco knew that he’d be no good for the man that was a divinity.

“I’d be out soon!” He called back. “You don’t have to wait for me.” And you shouldn’t wait for me, he thought.

“Poppy won’t let you leave without an escort!” Harry explained. “If your foot freezes up, you could trip.”

Damn It! Draco cursed. He just wished that Harry would leave; he needed time alone to think, and he couldn’t think straight in Harry’s presence.

“I won’t be long.” He shouted, hoping that once he was done and back to his room, that Harry would allow him some solitude.

* * *

Harry did eventually leave him sitting alone by his crackling fire, a hot coffee in his hands and a blanket over his legs. He wanted to write to Padfoot, but he felt such guilt. Why was it okay for him to corrupt Padfoot’s life and not Harry’s? Well, that was rather simple, Padfoot wasn’t the chosen one!

He’d realised though, on the way down to his private room, with Harry there to make sure he was safe, that he couldn’t start a relationship that wasn’t true. If he didn’t feel for Padfoot what he felt for Harry – and, he scoffed, that was bloody unlikely – then he would have to settle for at least second best. His heart would always belong to another, and his relationship would be unfair to Padfoot. He couldn’t do that!

He watched the fire dance, burning and consuming that which feed it, and he wondered… would he be like that. Would the flames only burn until he no longer had anything to give, leaving Padfoot extinguished and cold. No, he certainly couldn’t do that a man that was kind, accepting, and wanted only to be love wholeheartedly.

Draco closed his eyes, a futile attempt to stop the tears that fell there as he realised … he would never know what it was like to be in a relationship with someone that loved him.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do now however, he’d promised Padfoot that he wouldn’t just stop corresponding with him without an explanation at least. What was he supposed to say – ‘ _Truly sorry Padfoot, but I’m in love with someone else that I can never have, and everything I’ve shared with you is now meaningless?’_

Perhaps it would be best just to break his promise to Padfoot, to return his parchment and quill, and remove his files from Le’Amortentia… but it hurt to imagine Padfoot’s pain if he should be so callous.

He had been so close – they were due to meet each other soon, but Harry Potter had ruined his only chance at happiness. Yet, he was angry because he could not blame Potter. It was his past that had ruined it, and it was his own growing love for Harry that had opened his eyes to the lie that would become of any relationship with another… even someone as wonderful as Padfoot. 

Yes, he may have grown to love Padfoot one day, but that love would never amount to what he felt for Harry bloody Potter.

It was time to let go of his childish fantasies, of love and acceptance, and it was time to let Padfoot go… no matter how hard it would be. He was a cold hearted Slytherin, he could do what needed to be done. 

As he stood up, letting the blanket hit the floor, he took two paces before throwing his half empty cup across the room. The broken shards of china representing his life, his heart… and the coffee that dripped down the wall onto the carpet mimicked his tears.

Yes, it was going to be excruciatingly painful! 


End file.
